


Flatmates

by essequamvideri24



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, The Shadow of the Tower, The White Princess (TV), Winter King: Henry VII and the Dawn of Tudor England - Thomas Penn
Genre: Angst, F/M, flatmates AU, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2018-11-23 11:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11401179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essequamvideri24/pseuds/essequamvideri24
Summary: Collection of Modern Day Flatmates AU fics.





	1. Chapter 1

He thought the seasons would change slowly, imperceptibly, over months. But it seemed that here in the North of England one was plunged headlong into the season. One morning you woke up and the air had the crisp snap to it, and by that afternoon you were losing the light hours early than anticipated.

As he ambled up the road to his building, Henry’s eyes chased over the windows. Some lights were on, but he was looking to see if a particular flatmate was in. Alas, he couldn’t tell.

Digging in the pocket of his jeans, Henry located his keys and let himself into the building before making his way up to the shared flat. It was a budget place, just the necessities, no bells and whistles. There was faded and curling wallpaper in the lounge and the kitchen was in desperate need of an update, but it was serviceable. Plus, with three bedrooms, the rent was able to be split between three desperate students.

He’d been all set to share the place with Rodrigo and Edward, until Edward had backed out to study abroad for a year. He and Rodrigo knew it would be nearly impossible to find another renter this close to the start of the semester, but they had run the ad on the off chance someone was as desperate as they were.

Wanted: Flatmate. Students preferred. Males only, please. Call #xxxxxxx.

There’d only been one caller. A girl. A girl with such panic in her voice Henry had agreed to meet with her. Her finances had taken a nosedive over the summer and she was needing to find cheaper rent.

Rodrigo’s face had gone stony when Henry let him know about their new roommate. “Well, get ready for a lot of drama and hormones.” He’d muttered under his breath.

“What was I supposed to do? We needed another flatmate…”. And besides, he didn’t have the heart to turn her down. But Rodrigo didn’t need to know that.

So far the only one to make trouble this year had been Rodrigo, who had taken to eating everyone else’s food, and apologizing when he was caught, claiming he would make dinner for them all soon. Soon never came.

Henry wasn’t surprised when he had entered the flat to find Rodrigo in the kitchen with a tupperware of noodles. 

“Fuck’s sake, man.” Henry sighed, casting his messenger bag on one of the chairs at the tiny kitchen table stacked with neglected mail and Lizzie’s plants in mismatched pots. There were little feminine touches here and there throughout the flat, like the rug in front of the sink, the throw blankets over the backs of the couches in the lounge, and bottles of shampoos, conditioners, and body washes in the shower.

Rodrigo slurped the noodles loudly, looking a little started to see Henry. “Hmmm?” He asked with a full mouth.

“My left overs…” Henry gestured to the pilfered food, then waved his hand as if to dismiss the offense. “Nah, you know what, forget it. Enjoy.”

He stalked past his flatmate to open the refrigerator. At least his bottles of Bellhavens had gone undisturbed. “Is Lizzie back yet?”

“Haven’t seen her.” Rodrigo placed the tupperware and fork in the sink and made for the hallway to the back of the apartment. “Is she going out with us?”

“Not sure.” It was a Saturday night, and per usual he had his mate had planned on checking out the pubs, bars, and parties. He wasn’t exactly a partier, but he was in uni, and such things were part of the life style.

As soon as he heard the door to Rodrigo’s room close behind him, Henry lifted the window sash directly beside the kitchen table and stuck the top half of his body out. He could take Rodrigo stealing his food, but he hated it when the guy filched a beer or bummed a smoke or five. Besides, Lizzie put up with a lot of the guy’s grosser habits but she absolutely could not stand cigarette smoke in the home.

It had been hard living with a girl. She hogged the bathroom, stocked the fridge with ridiculous foods because she didn’t know how to shop on a budget, and was always drinking champagne, turning her nose up at any beer offered her.

Though she’d claimed to have little funds, Lizzie was always in, what he perceived to be, the latest fashion. She had an extensive handbag collection which even he could identify as expensive. And on his rare ventures into her room, he’d found the place replete with nice perfumes, scented candles, wardrobes bursting with clothes, and any flat surface was covered in a mix of makeup and jewelry. He believed her that she wasn’t as well off as before, but it was also clear she had no idea how to save money.

Meanwhile she had scolded Henry and Rodrigo in turns for leaving food in the fridge for too long, for stacking the dishes in the sink to high, for not changing the toilet roll when it ran out, for the build up of mail on the kitchen table. He may have been crazy, but Henry could swear that most of her complaints were directed exclusively at him.

Especially when it came to school work. They shared a few classes, and so consequently shared the books needed for the courses. She was always poking into his room, asking for this or that book as he was using it. Or she would ride his ass until he finished some assignment, when she knew he was procrastinating. The last was the most irksome to him.

Ridrigo found the back and forth most entertaining, and would even egg them on or even pit them against one another. Henry figured the Spaniard was just glad no one was pestering him. Once he had even suggested that there was “just so much sexual tension between them.” When the two flatmates had been bickering in the kitchen. Luckily Henry’s neck was already red and splotchy from how irritated he was with her, or else the flush would have read as a confirmation of the insinuation. “Shut up, Rodrigo!” He had snapped, “Ignore him,” He had said to Lizzie, “His English is terrible, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

By the time he heard the front door shut it was too late. Too late to put out his cigarette and waft any errant smoke out the window before lowering the sash. Not without her noticing, anyway. She didn’t come through, though, he couldn’t hear her heels on the creaky floorboards. He kept his cigarette hand outside and leaned in his chair to glimpse into the dim hallway.

Lizzie was standing just inside the door, her head hung. There was a faint sniffle and she wiped at her cheeks with the flats of her palms before she lifted her chin and blinked at the ceiling. Another sniffle. Was she… crying? He never seen her cry. Never heard her cry. She’d shown very little vulnerability at all, really.

Consequently, Henry felt like he was intruding on a moment most certainly not intended for him. Instead, he focused on stamping out the glowing end of his cigarette. “Lizzie, is that you?” He called out, giving her a heads up that she’d not gone totally unnoticed.

There was a long drag of silence. “Uh, yeah, just got in.”

A clatter of keys in the dish by the door and the sound of her bag of books meeting the hardwoods in a solid thud marked her official entrance. 

“Are you coming out tonight?” He asked as she stepped out of the shadowy hallway to lean against the doorjamb of the kitchen.

She only shrugged noncommittally in reply.

“Can I get you a drink?” He stepped to the fridge and swung open the door. He didn’t want to notice her red rimmed eyes, still glassy and puffy. “Uh, looks like there’s no champagne, will a beer-“

“A beer’ll do.” Even her voice was raspy, but he pretended he didn’t notice as he uncapped the bottle for her.

Which was worse, he wondered, asking if she was ok or pretending she was when she clearly wasn’t? Which was more offensive?

He settled on the safest option, “Rough week, eh?”

Lizzie dropped into one the chairs at the kitchen table and took a long pull from the bottle. “Yeah.” He let her brew on that for a moment, he could see that she wanted to tell him, but he wasn’t going to pry. “I got turned down… rejected…. by my dream internship.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Henry leaned up against the counter top.

“And they weren’t nice about it either.” Lizzie continued, “Said they didn’t need any more overprivileged underachievers in the program.” Her lips pursed adorably as she regarded her shoes.

“If that’s what they think of you,” Henry made to leave the kitchen, “Then they don’t deserve you at all.”

“Oh, come on,” The ragged edge to her voice stopped him dead in his tracks, “I know you think the same of me.”

She was right. He had. At first. It had been his snap judgment of her. But the past few months had proven him wrong. “I think there’s more to you than meets the eye.” He admitted, “You’ll find something else, all in good time.”

And then, thoughtlessly, he ducked to press his lips to her forehead before he trod off down the hall toward his room. He couldn’t understand why he’d done it, but the scent of her hair lingered in his senses until long after he had accepted his foolish actions.


	2. Chapter 2

Henry seemed just as confused about the brief moment of affection as she was. But after a few days of awkwardly avoiding one another they had tacitly agreed to write it off as a fluke. She had wrongly assumed that this newly found understanding would have ended their constantly bickering. But it seemed that the occasion had only kicked off a deeping of that facet of their relationship.

She was doing her best to set it all right, Lizzie told herself as she knocked at his bedroom door that evening, a textbook tucked under one arm and a calculator in her hand.

“Yeah?” Came the muffled voice from within.

Pushing open the door, Lizzie was surprised by how dark he kept his bedroom. Henry was seated at his desk, stacked tall with untidy piles of books and papers under the glow from a lamp. He was typing away on one of those calculators with the tape of paper that kept track of the calculations and sums. “What’s up?” He didn’t even look up.

“I was, uh, having some trouble with my accounting homework.” She said, about to seat herself on the foot of his bed.

With his back to her, she could see he had paused in his summations. “No big surprise there.” He laughed.

“Well, I wanted to know if you could help me.” She pushed past his slight against her.

“I’m busy.” He said curtly.

“I can see that.” She clutched the book to her chest. “But it would only take a couple of minutes to explain to me, you’re so good at this stuff.”

“Yeah, but it’d take you much longer to understand.” Henry was grinning at her over his shoulder now, one brow arching over a dark eye. “I don’t even know why you’re enrolled in accounting.”

The latest quip had a heat creeping up the back of her neck and spreading to her ears. He could be a real dick sometimes. “I just wanted to try and understand money better.”

“A lost cause.” Even he seemed surprised by how sharp his tongue could be, as his eyes slid away from her cold gaze and he licked his lips, just dignified enough to keep the sly smile plastered on his face. 

Lizzie set her jaw, refusing to be baited by him. “Fine. I’ll just find help elsewhere.” She said, swishing out of his room, leaving the door behind her open just because she knew it annoyed him.

“Another lovers’ spat?” Rodrigo was standing inside of the door to his own room, one of her Luna bars in his hand.

“Those are for girls.” She said, her voice notching toward audible irritation. “Get your own food. Hell, get your own life.”

And with that Lizzie stomped into her room and just refrained from slamming the door behind her, if for no other reason than to spare the full length mirror hanging on the inside of it. The way she saw it she was already cursed and couldn’t afford the seven years’ bad luck that came with a smashed mirror. 

She knew that they’d never really wanted her to live with them in the first place. And she knew that there would be a period of adjustment. But she didn’t think it would last this long. By now she had thought they would be happily coexisting. They should be happily ignoring her feminine products beside the toilet and she should be happily ignoring the girls they brought back after a night out.

But that didn’t seem to be the case. 

More often than not Henry spent the night in working on his homework, as did Lizzie, and Rodrigo, well, Rodrigo never seemed to work but always seemed to be there. On the nights they did go out, they tended to go out together. They spent far too much time all together. They all, collectively, needed to get their own lives.

She knew what she had to do. It would only take a few phone calls and a couple of conversations. And so, Lizzie sat crossed legged on her bed, picked up her phone, and took up her own charge.

xxxx

“Sorry I was so moody last night.” Lizzie swirled her spoon in her cereal as Henry tipped another scoop of grounds into the coffee pot. “I shouldn’t have stormed off like that.” She wasn’t really sorry, but she needed him on her side, and so she was playing it up.

“No, I’m sorry.” He mumbled, as he bent over the machine. “I’ve been studying really hard for my business law class and it has me all keyed up.” He was still sleepy headed from a brief night’s sleep, his hair all messy curls and his voice raspy. 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.” She said.

“I, uh…” There was a pause as he filled the pot from the tap. “I usually wear contacts, but my eyes are too dry from studying last night.”

They were ugly, wire framed glasses from a decade long since past. Oversized and thick lenses made him look like the massive dork he tried so hard to deny he was. “They’re a good look for you.” She teased. “All the girls in the math building must go weak at the knees when the see them.”

“Are you kidding me?” He shuffled back to the coffee machine. “I can’t bust these babies out there! The ladies would go wild.”

She had him right where she wanted him, apologetic, even willing to amuse her. “Look, I was thinking…” She pulled the tea bag from her mug and tossed it in the rubbish bin, “Rodrigo is annoying as hell.”

This earned her a chuckle, as Henry came to sit with her at the kitchen table while his coffee brewed. “I can’t disagree.”

“Right,” She smiled, “And I was thinking, he’d be far less annoying if he had someone else to annoy.”

“I’m intrigued.” He folded his hands before him on the table.

“My friend Katie is desperately single. And she’s into foreign guys. And she’s having a party tonight.” She sipped her tea. “What do you think?”

Henry rubbed at the stubble that shadowed his jaw, a smile creeping to his lips. “I think you’re a genius.”

“We both know that’s a lie. But I’ll take it.” 

“But how do we know that this Katie chick will go for it?” Henry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and Lizzie briefly wondered exactly how long his awkward phase had been, or if he was still going through it and was just exceptionally good at hiding it.

“Oh, well, I already floated the idea past her, and she’s already interested.” Lizzie stood, taking her bowl to the sink.

“Rodrigo isn’t exactly the handsome, suave Spaniard I assume you cracked him up to be when you were talking to her.” 

“Perhaps I didn’t emphasize enough how desperately single Katie is?” She returned to grab her mug of tea off the table.

“Ok,” He leaned back in his chair. “Well I assume you are telling me this whole plan for a reason. What’s my role?”

“You’re Rodrigo’s best friend.” She said. “You role is to ensure he’s into Katie. It will be a team effort to push them together.”

“So now you want me to play match maker with you?”

The notion of them doing anything ‘together’ right now irritated her. She was still mad at him, tired of his games, his smugness, his infinite teasing that went too far. “I just want you to be his wingman.”

There was a knock at the front door and Lizzie made to leave the kitchen. “Hey Lizzie?” She turned as he stood from the table, “did you still need help understanding that homework?”

“I told you, Tudor, I can find help elsewhere.” And with that she stepped out into the front hall and answered the door.

“I was hoping I had the right flat.” The guy standing just outside her door said, his voice thick with a French accent.

She giggled lightly and opened the door to admit him, turning as she did so to see Henry in the hall. It was her turn to smile smugly, the look of surprise on Henry’s face had been just what she had been expecting. “Oh Charles, let me introduce you to my roommate Henry.”

Henry stepped toward them and took Charles’ hand. “Nice to meet you Henri.” The Frenchman said politely.

“Charles is my Accounting TA.” She filled Henry in. “Anyway, come on in and have a seat in the lounge, I’ll just go get my books.”

xxxx

They’d struck out together to the party - her, Henry, and Rodrigo - all bundled against the bitingly cold autumn evening. Katie’s flat was too close to take an Uber and maintain all dignity, but too far walk comfortably in heels. Lizzie had ended up tottling there in her four inch boots, insisting the whole way that they really weren’t bothering her. Periodic sips from Henry’s flask had helped her forget just how uncomfortable her feet were.

When they arrived Lizzie made the others come with her to find Katie, insisting “I just have to introduce you.” She led them through the flat which was much larger then their own to find her friend.

Katie was perfect for Rodrigo, just as she had calculated. She was a bubbly sort, the center of any gathering, which was just how she liked it. Rodrigo had taken to her, and her string of eager questions about life in Spain. It hadn’t taken much prodding from Henry for the two of them to join in with the dancing.

“You think it’ll work?” Henry asked her, as the duo got lost in the crowd.

“Of course. I mean, I already slipped a note from Katie into his back pocket when Rodrigo wasn’t paying attention.” She led him through to the kitchen where she began fixing herself a drink.

“What?”

Lizzie began pouring rum into two disposable cups she found stacked on the counter. “Not from Katie, necessarily, but it has her number and her name and the words ‘call me’.”

“You’re too good at this.” He handed her the bottle of Coke she motioned to.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” She smiled wryly and took up a cup in each hand.

“Hey, isn’t that Charles?” Henry asked, pointing at the latest party-goer to enter. “Is he a friend of Katie’s?”

Lizzie began her retreat from the kitchen. “I don’t think so. I invited him.” She said just before she vanished from the room.

Charles was looking dapper, she thought as she handed him one of the cups of rum and Coke, his dark hair neatly combed and his shirt fitted to his muscular arms. 

“Can I get your jacket?” He asked, his lips to her ear to be heard over the heavy music, and she let him help her from her jacket, even if his hands lingered on her skin just a little too long. She could smell the alcohol on his breath already, and suspected he’d drank generously before arriving.

She pressed her hand into his and gave it a tug, “Dance with me.”

It didn’t take any convincing on her part before his arms had banded around her body, his hands pressed to her back as they moved together to the music. Lizzie drank quickly, hurriedly trying to match his level of inebriation. 

Drunk Lizzie liked the way Charles pressed his cheek to her temple, the way her fingers combed the short hair at the nape of his neck, the way his hips rocked against hers. It was wrong to take up with a TA this way, but she didn’t care much. After all, he didn’t seem to have any scruples against it. 

“Can you get me another drink?” She asked, as the song last song faded out, and his nose brushed her cheek. “Another rum and Coke?”

Charles’ hand wandered to her ass, to give it a pinch. “Only if you save me another dance.”

She nodded and he was off. It was damned hot in the room, and it only took a little navigating to find an open window and a ledge to sit in.

“Is that really wise?”

Henry loomed above her, beer bottle in hand.

“What? It’s not like I’m going to fall out the window.” She shot him a confused look.

“No, not that.” He rolled his eyes and sighed. She could still spot his glasses, folded up and just peeking out of the breast pocket of his jacket. “Dancing like that… with… your TA.”

“Oh, alright.” Her laugh was hollow, annoying even in her own ears. “What, are you Rodrigo now?”

“Lizzie, I…”. He took a deep breath and looked around.

She knew there was more to his sentiment, but she didn’t want to hear it. “Why don’t you find someone to dance with too?” She spied Charles looking for her and stood. “Maybe break out the glasses, chicks dig those glasses.”

And with that she swept off, back into the press of hot bodies, moving to the music. She really did hope she found someone. Maybe then she could stop looking for him over Charles’ shoulder.

“There you are, little missy.” Charles pressed his lips to her temple as he passed the plastic cup into her hand. 

“Oh, merci.” She tipped the cup to her lips and drank deeply, as if it could make this sloppy night better. “Come on, where’s that dance you promised me.” 

Charles’ hand came to rest on her hip, “As I recall, you were the one promising dances.”

She laughed loudly despite herself. Already she was losing her cool, the alcohol taking it’s desired affect. “Just dance with me.” She pleaded, resting her forearms on his shoulders.

It was at the point that Charles had started muttering French in her ear that Lizzie finally allowed herself to look for Henry one last time. Maybe he had sound someone after all. If she had a little more self control she could have set him up with someone tonight as well. She’d told herself that she didn’t have any other willing friends, but the truth that she couldn’t admit to herself was that she couldn’t bring herself to it. 

Across the room, beyond the sea of bobbing heads, and groping couples, she could see the distinctly curly head tilted back, polishing off another beer. She followed with her eyes as his mop of dirty blond curls, a head taller than the other party goers, retreated toward the front door of the flat and disappeared behind it.

Good, she told herself, he’d left. He couldn’t judge her any more. And honestly, she kind of didn’t want him to see the way Charles’ hands were roving over her curves, his fingers playing just under the hem of her shirt.

xxxx

“Henry?” She took a deep breath and sagged against the door as she pressed her forehead to the crack between it’s edge and the doorjamb. “Rodrigo?” She called. “Come on, I know someone’s home!”

The sightline directly down the main hall of the flat allowed Lizzie to see when a thin gleam of light illuminated the crack just beneath one of the bedroom doors. “Henry!” She yelled out again, only faintly aware that she was possibly also bothering her neighbors. “Henry, please let me in.”

Light flooded the end of the hallway as the door opened. “Did you forget your keys?” Henry was only a silhouette advancing down the hall toward her.

“No, you bloody idiot!” She snipped from behind her teeth, “You chain locked the freaking door!”

There was a sigh, and then her vision was obscured by his frame against the small gap between the door and the doorjamb. “Alright, I’m going to close the door and remove the chain.” 

When the door did open she stormed past him. “Why in the ever living hell did you chain the bloody door and then go to bed?” She railed against him as she tore off her jacket and shed it onto the floor of the front hall.

“I didn’t think you’d be come back?” Clearly she’d woken him, for he was rubbing at his eyes.

“And why did you assume that?” She wished she hadn’t asked.

“Because you were practically shagging that French guy on the dance floor, that’s why, Lizzie.” He was already slinking back down the hall to his room.

But she couldn’t let him have the last word. “Ok, but whose to say I wasn’t going to bring him back here?”

“Go to bed, Lizzie.” There was a definite tinge of ire to his inflection.

“No, I will not.” She followed him past Rodrigo’s open door, the room dark and empty. “You can’t lock me out of here and not expect me to be mad!”

“Oh yeah?” Henry whirled on her, “Well, you can’t be making eyes at me while you dance with some other guy and not expect me to be angry.”

She could feel the color drain from her face as she blinked rapidly against her disbelief. She couldn’t be hearing him right. “And what in the damn hell gives you the right to care about who I’m dancing with?”

“It’s not who you’re dancing with, Lizzie. It’s the fact that you were taunting me.” 

Her laugh caught in her throat, “Don’t flatter yourself, Tudor.”

“Oh, so am I misremembering all those looks you gave me?” He stepped toward her, a little unsteady in his own clear lack of sobriety, “All those looks, while he was dancing with you, and kissing your face, and pressing himself to you.”

“Shut up.” She pushed one of his shoulders, making him take half a step back.

“You were taunting me. Playing with me, like you always do.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Like you aren’t always playing games with me. Blowing hot and cold.” Even though her head was swimming with far too much alcohol she didn’t back down. “Being nice to me, then suddenly turning on me.”

“Trust me, I’m not the only one playing games here.” 

“What, so only you’re allowed to taunt me. But when I do it, I get locked out of the damn flat?” Her voice was growing shrill, she was losing ground here. “What’s your end game, anyway? Annoy me enough to get me to move out? I know you didn’t want me here in the first place, so why’d you let me move in at all?”

There was an edge to Henry’s voice when he admitted, “I took pity on you, Lizzie. Pity.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need your pity.” She surged toward the door to her own room, afraid that if things went any further she would end up regretting it. She’d either have to live with her own words or move out for real.

Henry caught her wrist, “Trust me, I didn’t want to give it.” He dragged her toward himself, “I found I just couldn’t help myself.” 

And suddenly he was pushing her against the wall, his hands roving over her as hungrily as his lips were against hers. Her hands pressed at his shoulders, but she lacked the will to put any strength behind the gesture. His tongue pushed past her lips and her conscience melted, even if he did taste of alcohol and cheap cigarettes. The fire of their fight was still there, but she was giving in to her more primal instincts against her better judgment. It made her unnerved, even in the wake of the effect all that rum was having on her.

He pulled away and she slapped his jaw with a well aimed hand. This time there was some force behind the action. “Another game?” Her breaths were coming in shallow bursts. “I’m not interested.”


	3. Chapter 3

Henry sat on the edge of the bed dressed for the day in his khaki slacks, his head in his hands, his fingers massaging his temples. His head was pounding from a wicked hangover, and it had taken all his strength to make himself even halfway presentable.

It was a shame, he reflected, a real shame he hadn’t drank more. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to live with the memories that kept seeping back into his mind. The things he had said. The things he had done.

Afraid to face the day, afraid to face his flatmates, Henry had confined himself to his room for the morning. After popping a handful of paracetamol with a swig of tepid water from the night before he had dressed, before the events of the night prior had come rushing back to him. He didn’t have too much time to reflect, for he was due to be joining his weekend study group shortly.

At long last Henry gathered up his messenger bag and jacket and ventured out of his room. Crossing his fingers, he hoped against hope that Lizzie was still in her own room. The door to Rodrigo’s bedroom was closed when he passed it, but he could hear the snores through the thin walls. Apparently their third flatmate had made it home eventually.

As he attempted to sneak quietly into the kitchen, Henry heard a rustle behind him and peeked over his shoulder to see Lizzie curled up against the arm of the sofa in the lounge, a book in one hand, the other pressing the eraser of a pencil to her lips.

“Oh hey, didn’t expect to see you there.” He said in an almost whisper, as if Rodrigo were a light sleeper who would wake at the least sound.

For her own part Lizzie looked no worse for the wear, despite her blond tresses which had been thrown up in a messy bun, and her matching pink pajama set. Did she remember what had happened last night? He couldn’t seem to remember, or maybe he couldn’t gauge, just how drunk she had been the night prior.

“I think there’s some coffee in the pot.” Her eyes only flitted up from the page for the briefest of seconds to acknowledge his presence.

“Coffee?” She wasn’t a coffee drinker. Tea only. Cream, no sugar. Any time of day or night. Preferably with a chocolate digestive on the side. He hated that he knew that.

“Rodrigo came in earlier and put some on to brew before he passed out again. I think he was being overambitious about staying awake.” She turned the page and finally looked him in the eye, “I wouldn’t feel bad about drinking it if I were you, I’m fairly certain he used your coffee grounds anyway.”

Henry was surprised by how civil she was being, when she had every right to be mad at him. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from him.” He said, before excusing himself to make tumbler of coffee to take with him to study group. What was she doing, pretending the incident of the night before hadn’t happened? Henry wanted so desperately to clear the air, to hash it all out with her right then and there, to make his plaintive apology. But he had other obligations to tend to. Perhaps later.

“Are you going to be in later?” He asked in a hushed tone, as he screwed the lid onto the tumbler while he passed back through the lounge.

“Later? I’m not sure.” Lizzie cast the book on her lap and stretched her arms above her head. “Charles and I are supposed to be meeting up today.”

Oh, so that was still happening? Henry had figured that was a one day only special. Apparently he was wrong. “Oh, okay.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back.” A smile was creeping across her lips, still just so kissable in his now sober opinion. “So, don’t go locking the chain.”

It took just that one quip to make his eyes dart from her, to make him deflate. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He said hurriedly. “Anyway, I’ve got to run, so, maybe I’ll see you later.”

He had the entire walk to campus to reflect on the whole situation last night and the encounter this morning, and as he navigated the narrow streets, hedged in on either side by the parallels of the buildings, he thought about how easily he’d lost his cool. All it had taken was some teasing on her part to totally unhinge him. His reaction to her glances at him - leaving the party, the argument afterward, and the unwanted kiss - had been unwarranted.

Most especially he was ashamed of the kiss. It had been totally unlike him, and entirely terrible behavior. The memory of the way he’d handled her, physically, was hateful to him. He hated the way he had pulled her and pushed her, the way he had run his hands over her body, the way he had covered her mouth with his. It hadn’t been done lovingly, it had been done out of an urge to control. And it hadn’t been received willingly, though she had submitted to his attentions. He wasn’t ready to take the easy way out and blame it all on inebriation, though obviously that had played its own role in the situation. 

Certainly he didn’t deserve her kindness of this morning. Though it was tempered by some rather lighthearted teasing, it made him suspicious all the same. She had to have been pretending that their argument hadn’t been a big deal. Thankfully Rodrigo hadn’t been there to witness any of the occurrences, but once he had the pleasure of sharing the room with them Henry was sure even he could pick up on the tension between his two flatmates.

The pre-law study group met each Saturday in a reserved study room in the library on campus. It was a small, informal group of undergraduate students with their hopes fixed on an eventual law degree. Henry had joined the group early on when he had first begun university, and had continued to attend each week. The group was a reflection of the very apex of scholastic achievement. Which was to say it was a room full of giant nerds vying with one another to be the biggest brainiac in the bunch. But the award for most inflated ego went to a certain personality Henry had filed under “nemesis” in his mental ranking of friends and acquaintances. 

Richard Perkin was a perfect ass and Henry’s acknowledged academic rival. But neither let that get in the way of their friendship. Instead they allowed it to foster the competition that was only natural between them.

But Richard had let the competitiveness get too heated between himself and his roommate James, or so Henry had learned the other night from Katie, James’ cousin.

Henry’s rival was exactly the type of guy one either loved or loathed. Where Henry had a type of smugness, Richard could be openly arrogant. He was also traditionally good looking, with golden blond hair, dark brown eyes, and fair skin that freckled in the sun. Even his small upturned nose, strong jaw, and lips that habitually crooked into a half smile leant to the image of arrogance. But his sense of self-assurance did tend to make people gravitate toward him, nonetheless. He did have a magnetism, a je ne sais quoi. 

Even Henry begrudgingly labelled him as a friend, unable to resist the guy’s innate charm.

The study session dragged on for hour after hour, frequent smoke breaks were the only things that kept Henry engaged. Those and the coffee in his tumbler, even after it had gone room temperature. Together the group hashed out the nuanced minutiae of the the curriculum they followed. Henry tended, for his own part, to listen more than contribute - unlike, say, Isabel or Louis. Showoffs.

As everyone was standing, stretching and packing their papers, pens, and books back into their respective bags, Henry caught up with Richard just leaving the room. “Hey, man,” Richard attempted to engage his study mate in a complicated handshake Henry wasn’t cool enough to know.

“How’s it going?” Henry settled on a half handshake, half bro-hug combination.

“Fine. Edgar’s Political History reading kicking your ass yet?” Richard led the way out of the library.

Henry matched the slightly shorter, stockier guy stride for stride. “Honestly? I’m not finding it that bad. Modern Philosophy and Morality, though,” He exhaled long and shook his head, dirty blond curls swaying with the motion, “that class is a pain.”

“How about Business Law? Or Tax Law?” Richard commiserated.

Hesitating, Henry lifted a hand and wobbled it back and forth to indicate his indecision. “It’s not that bad, just a lot of concepts and a lot of work.”

His companion laughed as they descended the stairs. “The concepts and the work are the hard part for me.” He shook his head. “You and me, Tudor, we couldn’t be more different if we tried.”

“Well,” Henry tried not to betray his nerves as he broached the topic, “I think we do have one thing in common.”

xxxx

It had been a busy day, with lots of studying, and lots of errands, and a few last minute appointments. So, Henry had been surprised when he slumped through the door that evening, tired as a dog, to find the lounge full.

“Hey.” Rodrigo smiled up from a big bowl of pasta he looked to be sharing with Katie on the ugly pink floral brocade loveseat beside him.

Lizzie, curled up neatly next to Charles on the soda while all four enjoyed a movie on the television, had only a weak smile for Henry. Or at least that was what he perceived in the dim warm glow of the floor lamp in the corner.

His chest tightened and his jaw tensed. “Hope I didn’t interrupt a good part.” He said, lamely, rearranging his features into the façade of a friendly smile, before he retreated to his room to drop off his things.

Ignoring the voice in his head that advised him to remain in the room, Henry passed back through the main part of the flat to make himself a meager dinner in the kitchen. The frozen meals he had stocked the freezer with only a week ago were already gone. Vanished. He suspected Rodrigo. He had some left over rice in the fridge and was able to scrounge up a single chicken breast to cook.

“So.” The voice nearly caused Henry to drop the plate with the chicken as he closed the refrigerator door. “You wanted to talk tonight, right?” Lizzie stood on the opposite side of the fridge door, dressed in a tight minidress over which she wore a threadbare cardigan, the one she always wore around the flat when it was cold, he recognized. The dress led him to believe she and Charles had most probably gone on a dinner date earlier.

“Oh, no, I don’t want you to miss out on your movie in there.” He gestured vaguely to the doorway to the lounge, but she didn’t move. “It wasn’t any…” She was staring at him, expectant, “anything…”. He was going to to say it wasn’t anything important, but it was. It really was. “I just wanted to apologize.”

Lizzie opened her mouth momentarily, as if to say something, but bit her lip instead. “Apologize for what?”

It wasn’t that she didn’t know, Henry could tell she wanted a specific apology - she wanted to know what he thought he should be sorry for. It was tactic his mother had used on him as a child, he remembered.

“Everything. Locking you out, the fight, the things I said, I wasn’t being fair.” He took a deep breath. “For… the things I did.” It was hard to fess up to the kiss.

“You were drunk.” She said. It wasn’t an excuse, though, it was a fact. “We were both drunk.”

“I really am sorry. I’ll just stay out of your hair from now on.” Oh God, her hair. He could practically relive the feeling from the night prior of his fingers threading through her tresses like lengths of silk. He was fairly sure his face was as red as it was hot.

Lizzie was looking away from him now, hugging her cardigan about her frame. “Yeah, I think that’d be for the best.”

“Can you forgive me?” And for once he wasn’t totally sure what she was going to say.

“Sure, yeah,” She rubbed the back of her neck, “we can move past it.”

They were right, it was the best solution. Amicable even. So why didn’t Henry feel any kind of relief? A feeble and unstable kind of stats quo had been restored, as Lizzie invited Henry to join them in the lounge while he ate. And although he didn’t really want to, he did so, if only to prove that they could all still live together and get along.

xxxx

The smell of sausages and eggs and coffee were wafting down the hall, pervading every room of the flat in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. The aroma drew Henry from his room, like a moth to the light. There were voices in the kitchen, he could hear them as he advanced down the hall, arranging his glasses before his eyes.

Rodrigo was stood before the stove in his maroon jumper, managing with east the pans and pots he had set on the burners. Henry had honestly never seen his flatmate cook before. He talked about it from time to time, “I’ll make up for it, I swear, I’ll cook you dinner… next week.” How many times had he heard that? It seemed the myth was finally coming true today.

Katie was at his elbow, dressed in her rumpled clothes from the day before, setting the kettle and getting out mugs from the cupboards. “Oh, hey Henry.” She greeted, without so much as an ounce of shame that she had obviously stayed the night. And Henry figured it really wasn’t his business.

It was dreary outside the kitchen window and the dark, heavy clouds that he could peek rolling ominously above the rooftops and chimneys threatened storms. Drizzle pittle-pattled against the window panes, as Henry lifted the sash. 

“Oh, come on, man.” Rodrigo half turned toward his flatmate as he scrambled some eggs. “Smoking already?”

Henry shrugged innocently, patting his pockets in a blind search for a lighter.

“You’ve got to quit that.” Rodrigo said, turning his attention back to his myriad pans.

From behind one of Lizzie’s potted plants on the kitchen table, Henry produced a rumpled red and white pack of cigarettes. He’d quit when he no longer needed the addiction to cope with the stress of his life, he told himself. “I’ll take it under advisement,” was all he said in response, shaking a cigarette loose from the pack.

“Really?” Lizzie was framed in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed over her pink pajama set, a disapproving slant to her brow. “You just going to let all that cold air in?”

“Rigo’s cooking, it was hot in here.” He protested, attempting a smile and gesturing to their chef and his girlfriend plating the food.

She shook her head and slumped into the chair beside him, at the head of the table. “Whatever, go ahead and have your smoke. I don’t care.” 

“Oh, this is weird.” Rodrigo set a plate in from either of them. “You two are being weird. What’s going on?” He looked practically gleeful about the tension.

Henry wasn’t exactly keen on competing in the excuse olympics; he reckoned he’d said his apologies, and Lizzie had accepted them. If she couldn’t get past it, well, there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot left that he could do about that. Instead he lit up his cigarette a puffed a plume of smoke out the window.

“Nothing’s going on,” Her voice pitched, an edge to the phrasing. “I’m just… still tired.”

“Late night with your new man?” Rodrigo returned to grab plates for himself and Katie, his girlfriend trailing behind him with mugs of tea.

Henry closed his eyes to conceal how they rolled. Meanwhile, Lizzie was nearly sputtering on her tea. “Good grief, Rigo!” She croaked. “No, no, he left after you two went… to bed.”

This wasn’t even close to the type of conversation Henry wanted to be having. “So, anyway, what are you lot up to today?” He ashed his cigarette out the window quickly, to avoid the raindrops extinguishing it. 

“Well, seeing as it’s raining,” Katie slipped into a chair beside Rodrigo, “We thought we’d spend the day inside, watching TV, finishing up last minute assignments…”

“Charley is coming back around later, to hang out.” Lizzie forked a helping of eggs into her mouth. “You?” She mumbled.

Hell, did the guy live here now or what? “Just… working, studying, you know.”

“Locked up in your room again?” She shared a look with Rodrigo as she snorted knowingly.

“Probably.”

And Henry did spend the day in his room studying, coming out to fetch himself the occasional coffee or odd snack in lieu of an actual meal. The double daters, meanwhile, made themselves cozy in the lounge with blankets, and pillows, and movies in the VCR, and board games on the coffee table. Oh to be unencumbered by actual studies and pressing personal goals.

The week passed by in much the same way. When any of his flatmates were in they always seemed to have their significant others in tow. Meanwhile, Henry took to his room constantly, as it seemed to be his only reprieve from the fairly depressing tableau of smug couples basking in their blossoming love.

It was, quite frankly, unbearable.


	4. Chapter 4

It was the sound of keys jangling in the lock of the front door that made Lizzie and Charles, or Charley as she like to him, jump apart from one another on the sofa, Lizzie biting at her swollen lower lip for good measure and Charles smoothing a hand through his hair.

“Hey Henry.” She said, as her flatmate strode through the door, his eyes just sliding past her.

“Hey, uh, this is my mom, Margaret.” He said; a positively tiny woman emerged from the shadows behind him, her head not even grazing shoulder height as she passed Henry’s tall slender frame. “Mom this is Lizzie and her boyfriend Charles.”

“He’s not my-“ Lizzie’s flush deepened and her stomach churned, “We’re just…”

“Enchanté.” Charles got up and shook the woman’s hand. “Well, I should be going.” He turned back to Lizzie, still gobsmacked on the sofa, “Catch you later, maybe?”

She got up unsteadily, “Yeah, maybe.” This was what it had been like lately, there always seemed to be this unspoken tension between Henry and Charles. It was usually dampened by Rigo or Katie’s presence. But she’d never seen Charles jump up and leave when Henry entered before.

“So this is where you live?” Margaret was saying, her sharp, dark eyes taking in every little detail, Lizzie was sure: the peeling wall paper, the water stains on the ceiling, the sagging sofas, the floorboards that desperately needed refinishing, the dated and dusty television in the corner. “I can’t understand why.”

Lizzie couldn’t either, after all Margaret had a handbag on her arm that was easily worth their combined rent for a good few months, and she recognized the cut of the woman’s clothes as being expensive and custom tailored. She didn’t know a lot about Henry’s personal life, really, so she was quite surprised by how posh his mum seemed to be. Her makeup was flawless, her manicure was fresh, and it looked like she had just come back from getting a professional blow out. Margaret looked out of place in their dingy flat.

Resuming her spot on the sofa, Lizzie continued to work on her English Literature assignment. Or, she pretended to. She couldn’t help but watch as Margaret toured the flat, Henry always half a step behind her, stooping to speak in hushed tones with her. How could such a tiny woman mother such a towering son? Absentmindedly Lizzie wondered what his father must look like.

“Mum, you don’t need to see my room, really.” He was whispering, trying to step around her to prevent her venturing down the hallway.

“Is he always so secretive?” Margaret said, shooting a look at Lizzie unexpectedly.

Surprised to find herself being pulled into the kerfuffle, Lizzie prevaricated. “He… can be rather…”

“Standoffish? Yes, I had worried about that.” The older woman massaged a temple with two fingers. “I always worried that he wouldn't be independent enough, being an only child and all, that’s why I sent him to boarding school in France for all those years, you know?” No, Lizzie didn’t know. Not at all. This was all news to her. “It seems my plan backfired tremendously and I’ve ended up with a son too independent for his own good. He’s positively… cryptic.”

Now it was Henry who was rubbing his temple, and Lizzie was beginning to see the resemblance. “Mum, I’m right here.” 

“After all, it’s not like I intend to go digging through his things, I just want to see where my son is living.” Margaret continued as though she hadn’t even heard him. “But if you can’t bear it, then I suppose we should go.”

Henry looked rather relieved that she had given up so easily. “Yes, let’s get along. Lizzie, I’ll see you-“

“Oh, Lizzie, dear, why don’t you join us for dinner?” 

Her eyes snapped to Henry who was standing just behind his mother, looking for some indication from him as to what her answer should be. He raised a brow, his lips curling into a resigned smile as he shrugged. Why not? He seemed to say.

“Uh… that sounds… lovely,” Lizzie smoothed her hands over the text book on her lap and licked her lips, “But I have so much work to do, I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly.”

“Henry assures me it’s quite close by. Shaggy Dog, I think you said it was called?” She craned her neck to sweep a look at her boy.

Lizzie stifled a giggle, she was referring to the corner pub Henry always went to whenever he went out. There was nothing special about it, just plain pub food. She reckoned Margaret would be just as out of place there as she was here in their flat. 

“It’s just a quick meal, I promise. I won’t keep you - either of you - from your studies.”

It was with no small measure of trepidation that Lizzie agreed to go. She and Henry hadn't hung out outside of the flat since the night of Katie’s party, and after that incident their interactions within the flat had only been cordial. A warm cordiality, but still, cordial. Lizzie felt like they were always on the brink of another fight. She really had wanted to say no, but Margaret hadn’t seemed to invite her out of pity or politeness, her invitation had seemed sincere. Lizzie would have felt unbearably rude turning her down a second time.

And so the three tramped down to the pub together, an odd looking trio. Margaret’s only stipulations had been that they find a booth by a window and that the waiter bring her a glass of red wine straight away. The diner passed quite nicely, to Lizzie’s great surprise. Margaret had an inviting personality, a lovely foil to the cool competence she exuded. She asked both young people questions and engaged them in stories. 

Her natural charm seemed to pull something of the same from her son, even. For he found tales to regale them with, and jokes to tell, and witticism to relate, and generally seemed a pleasanter person around his mother than Lizzie had become accustomed to. He’d even ventured to tease Lizzie for her house cardigan “you know, the one with all the holes?” In response to such embarrassment Henry revealed Margaret had a similar one. 

“Well, you mother seems like a lovely woman.” Lizzie remarked as she and Henry walked back to their building, Margaret having left them both to be on her way.

“She’s not always like that… with strangers.” He said. “She can be much more reserved around strangers and acquaintances. Normally she isn’t so easy to open up.”

Lizzie looked at him askance, her smile fading on her lips. “Really? Because she seemed quite, I don’t know, is the word ‘affable’?”

“Yes it is, and no, she’s not usually like that.” The biting cold had turned the end of Henry’s rose red, and had brought a rosiness to his pale, drawn cheeks.

“Well, in any case,” She clutched at her scarf to keep the wind from claiming it’s frayed edges, “I liked her.”

“Lizzie, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.” His tone was careful, measured, but still she found her heart picking up speed, racing to where she knew not. If it was some kind of a love declaration she didn’t think she could handle it. She’d done her best to write off what had happened the night of Katie’s party as a fluke, but if she found out he was carrying some kind of a torch for her, well… she wasn’t sure quite what she would do.

“Oh, yeah?” As much as she tried to sound nonchalant, her voice had still come out an octave too high for the response to register as anything but frantic, nervous.

“It’s just, I don’t want to insert myself in your private stuff, and I’m not sure to what extent it’s my place to say anything. It’s just, I don’t think anyone else will, so, I feel like I kind of… have to… for your sake.”

The long preamble certainly had to be worse than what he actually had to say, right? She couldn’t imagine this disclaimer prefacing anything of substance. And what the hell was “personal stuff”? “Um, alright. I guess.” Not being able to look at him or look away while he delivered whatever information was so dire as to necessitate his obvious nerves, Lizzie was caught walking with her face turned partially to him but her eyes averted from him.

“It’s that, well, this Charles guy,” the address alone seemed to cheapen Charles’ actual identity, and this did not bode well, “I don’t think he’s such a good idea.”

“Is that right?” Her voice took on an edge.

“Well, he has been know to… lead a lot of younger female students… astray.”

“Astray?”

“He has a reputation as something of a creep.”

What was his game here? Was he cooking something up in the hopes that she’d dump Charley? Well, maybe not dump, they weren’t even really dating after all. But still, was he trying to put Charley down so that he’d look like a better alternative, hoping she’d compare the two guys? “Whatever, Tudor.” She clutched the strap of her hand bag, slung over her shoulder.

Henry made a last ditch attempt, “I’m serious, he’s known to be a real douche-bag, a hit it and quit it type.”

“Look, I don’t need your advice. Especially dating advice. I can handle myself.” She was grateful that they were closing in on their building now, because Lizzie was so ready for this walk, and the attendant conversation, to be over. “Besides, if he’s such a creep, why hasn’t he made a real move on me yet?”

“It’s only a matter of time Lizzie.” He pressed, foolishly, as he followed her in and up the narrow stairs. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

She paused as she reached their door, biting back the acrid words that had raised nearly to her lips. “You were right to think it wasn’t your place to say anything, Tudor, and it certainly isn’t your place to get protective of me.” Rummaging in her handbag for her keys, even though she could see that Henry already had his own gripped in his hand, she carried on her voice gaining a shrillness even she couldn’t pretend to ignore. “You’re not my dad, not my brother, my boyfriend, or hell, even my friend. You’re my flatmate. So do me a favor, and back off.”

With that she yanked open the door to their flat and stalked back to her room, brushing past a wide-eyed Rigo, who had no doubt heard what she had said in the hallway.

For the next few weeks Lizzie did her best to avoid her flatmate, if she could just make it to the end of the semester, hopefully things would blow over during Christmas holidays, she told herself. Henry was set to go on a long road trip all through the isles and Lizzie was scheduled to spend her break with her family. Perhaps the time apart would help push the reset button, maybe this was all part of adjusting to living with the opposite sex.

Avoiding Henry, meant more time spent out of the flat. With her limited resources, going out usually ended up meaning spending the day on campus with friends or hanging out with Charley. 

She didn’t want to put any stock into Henry’s warnings but she did notice some of Charley’s odder behaviors. For one, he never had her round his, though she knew for a fact he had his own flat and didn’t have to share it with anyone else. For another thing, he didn’t always return her phone calls. And he never took her on dates that were close to campus or attended anymore parties with her. She had excused away each of the behaviors again and again, telling herself that she was being paranoid and silently cursing Henry for planting the seeds of doubt in her mind in the first place.

With increased studying came steady improvement in her grades. She had even made a "B" on an accounting quiz recently. Her instinct had been to knock on Henry's door and present him with the grade, to gloat about her accomplishment, however small it was, because it proved him wrong. But she they weren't on terms for that type of behavior. Instead she had revealed the grade to a frustratingly nonplussed Charles.

“There you are!” Katie hissed, emerging from a row of bookshelves in the library to sit with Lizzie at one of the study stations. “I though you said the seventh floor.”

“Always the fifth, Katie.” Lizzie slipped her pen between the pages of her text, careful to keep her voice low. It was late on a Thursday evening and Lizzie was surprised to see Katie in the library at all.

“Are you really not going out tonight?” Her friend asked.

Lizzie shook her head, “I’ve been working on getting my grades up.”

“Come on,” Katie said playfully, running her fingers through her long, dark hair, “University is about having fun.”

Lizzie arched a brow, “University is about earning a degree. Anyway, what are you up to tonight.” She chewed on an unpolished thumbnail.

“Well, I was hoping you’d come with me to a party at my cousin James’ place.”

Disinterestedly reopening her book, Lizzie sighed “Can’t Rigo go with you? He never studies, he’s just naturally smart.”

Her friend looked fidgety, playing with the ends of her hair as she said “Rigo can’t come.”

Something was off. “Why not?”  
“I don’t want him to, ok, just this once.” Katie must have noticed how Lizzie was picking up on her vibe, for her countenance suddenly brightened and she adopted a grin, “I just want to go out with my best friend like old times. Please come with me.”

Though it was a lovely sentiment, Lizzie couldn’t help but think her friend was being awfully evasive. It was with a resigned sigh and a slight pout that Lizzie finally agreed, “Fine.”

And so, she was dragged off to Katie’s place to dress and get ready.

If it was even possible, Katie’s room was even more of a mess of clothes and make up than Lizzie’s own room. But her friend was able to find something for them both to wear from her wardrobe, before they crowded together in front of the sweeping mirror over Katie’s dresser to arrange their hair, slick on their eyeliner, and apply their lipstick.

It felt strange, wearing Katie’s clothes, her own jeans and jumper discarded on the bed in favor of a long sleeved berry colored velvet dress. She retained her own black chelsea boots, unwilling to brave the cold in a pair of stilettos. 

James’ flat wasn’t far and so they were able to eschew coats for the brisk walk over. Lizzie had never been round James’ place before, in fact she only knew James through Katie, classing him as a mere acquaintance. 

Within, and up the stairs to the top floor, music emanated from the door to the sole attic flat. Upon entering, Lizzie found the place was all sloping and pitching ceilings, and cozy dormer windows, with couples huddled together in them.

It was only as a drink was passed to her and Lizzie took in the dimly lit room, through the clouds of smoke, alive with masses of party goers, that she realized it had been nearly a month since she had last been to a party at all. On the up-side, her grades in all of her courses had only improved.

She hoped she wouldn’t be her long, and promised herself she would leave once Katie seemed to be well settled in.

“There you are!” Katie exclaimed, bouncing up to grip Lizzie’s forearm. She hadn’t even realized they had been separated. “Let me introduce you to everyone.” She linked arms with Katie and together they slipped through the crowd. “You know James, of course.” Katie gestured to her cousin - a slender, somewhat plain looking guy, with shaggy light brown hair that had grown overlong - and the two exchanged waves. “That girl with him is Maggie Drummond.”

“His girlfriend?” Lizzie asked, confusedly regarding the bubbly girl with figure of a bombshell, they seemed like an unlikely couple, seeing as she was several levels out of his league.

“One of them.”

She shot Katie and inquiring look.

“I know, I know. I don’t get it either. Anyway,” Katie pushed them onward through the crowd. “There’s Rich and Anne.” 

“Who?”

“Oh, you’ve never met them? Rich Gloucester’s dad is a Duke. Their old money, like really old money. Ironic thing is, they haven’t got any money any more. And Anne,“ Katie smiled mischievously, “She’s new money. Her family is embarrassingly pretentious. But, neither family is particularly happy about them dating apparently.”

Lizzie watched as Rich threw an arm around Anne’s shoulder and pulled her to his side when a friend approached to converse with them. “They seem cute.”

Katie gave a half-hearted shrug, “Star-crossed lovers, those two.”

“Who’s that?” Lizzie tried to point discreetly over the rim of her cup - a tall, handsome blond had entered the room and was greeting people left and right with a wide grin. He had an easiness to him, a charm. “He’s so… charismatic?”

“You really don’t know him? Lizzie we’ve been going here for a few years now and you honestly don’t know Richard Perkin?”

“Perkin… the name seems familiar.” Lizzie twisted a curled length of her hair about her finger as she regarded him from a safe distance.

“I can introduce you, if you like.” There was a playful cadence to her friend’s voice.

“Katie, please, I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, you have a boyfriend, so you can’t talk to other guys?” She teased. “And where is Charles tonight, anyway?”

She shouldn’t have felt defensive about such an innocuous teasing quip, but Lizzie could feel the heat flooding to her cheeks all the same. “I don’t know, we like to give one another some space sometimes.”

Sensing she had crossed some invisible line, Katie backed off immediately, “Don’t take it so seriously.” She brushed her fingers over Lizzie’s cheek, “Come on.”

They found Richard greeting some guy friends when Katie bounded up to him, all rosy cheeked and grinning. “Hey Richard, I want you to meet my best friend, Lizzie.”

“Hey Lizzie.” His voice was pitched a little higher than she had expected, like a singer’s, but there was a roughness to it that made her suspect he indulged in a fair deal of drinking and smoking. “Thanks for coming out tonight.”

“Oh do you… ?” Lizzie gestured vaguely to the surrounding flat.

“Yeah, I, uh, I live here with James.”

“I meant to ask,” Katie lowered her voice, “How’s that going?”

“Well,” Richard rubbed his jaw with a calloused hand, his face contorting into a mask of hesitation. “Not so good. James wants Maggie to move in, and he wants me to… stay, but I don’t know…”

Lizzie quickly drew the parallels to her own situation; two guys, a girl, a flat. “Do you think it would be hard to live with a girl?”

“Oh, no, not at all, girls are great. I have nothing against a nice smelling flat and a clean kitchen, it’s just… those two get so loud when they’re, ahem, going at it. And… they go at it all the damn time.” He at least had the dignity to allow his face go a little pink with the disclosure. “I mean, it’s none of my business what they do on their own time, it’s just… I can’t work in that type of environment.”

Katie was giggling, “But how ever will James maintain his playboy status once he has Maggie here? He’ll look positively monogamous!” 

“All he had to do was find someone who could keep up with him, apparently.” Richard countered. 

“Oh, come on, you know he’s with other girls too, even since he found Maggie.”

“Fewer, but yes, you’re right.” He conceded. “I guess what he needs is an open relationship.”

“Ugh.” Katie shuddered, “Open relationships are so weird. Why bother being in a relationship at all if you can’t commit?”

“Oh hey, man,” Richard turned, as a hand clapped his shoulder, “I didn’t think you’d be making it.”

Lizzie’s eyes traced Richard’s sightline back to the dark, deep set eyes of her own flatmate. And suddenly it dawned on her where she had heard the name Perkin before. “Yeah, I was able to escape Tax Law for a few hours.” Henry replied. “And I see you’ve met Lizzie.”

“Oh, this is Lizzie your flatmate? I didn’t put that together until just now.” Richard laughed good-naturedly, but Lizzie couldn’t shake the icky feeling that came with the knowledge that they’d spoke about her before, in whatever capacity. “She’s far quieter than you led me to believe.”

Henry bit his lip as if he could stop the smile that spread across them. “She can be. But if you put on the right music you won’t be able to stop her from singing.”

Oh, so he’d noticed? Lizzie sipped her drink. She couldn’t believe she’d avoided him for about a month only for him to he show up and pretend that there was nothing going on. No awkwardness, no bickering, no grating on one another’s nerves. 

“Anyway,” she attempted to segue smoothly out of what seemed to be a suggestion from Henry for her to embarrass herself, “I’ve got to be going, nice to meet you.” And with that she shook Perkin’s hand before she brushed past Henry, only to turn sharply on her heel and address Katie only, “I’ll catch you tomorrow, have fun tonight.”

The walk from James’ flat to her own was much longer than the walk from Katie’s had been, and Lizzie found herself sorely missing the coat she had left at her friend’s place. It was well past midnight and she knew that she shouldn’t really be walking alone, especially when no one else appeared to be out on the streets. Ducking into the nearest phone booth, Lizzie found herself dialing Charles.

“H-hello?” 

“Did I wake you? Sorry.” 

“Who is this?”

Lizzie's heart sank. So he didn’t recognize her voice? “It’s Lizzie.” Her fingers played over the rough hewn buttons of the pay phone, her eyes boring into the numbers etched on them.

There was a pause. “It’s after 12, what are you doing calling so late?”

“Can you meet me at mine in 20 minutes?” She was hopeful, he was a Frenchman after all, and weren’t the French supposed to be romantic? Wouldn’t it be this sweet romantic gesture? To come by when she called, just to warm her bed, just to wake with their noses grazing, just to share a cup of tea in the morning before class?

“Is this a… booty call?” It was a change of direction from her particular fantasy, but his tone had lightened, and Lizzie could sense he was smiling.

“No, it’s just,” how could she explain, “I don’t know, I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

“Ah, but chérie, you see, I am already sleeping in my own bed.”

“Then I’ll come there.” The words passed her lips before she had even a chance to filter them. It was far too forward a thing to say, especially when she had never been to his place before.

Charles sighed audibly into the receiver, “Maybe another night. Surely you can wait until tomorrow to see me?”

He was right, she did seem rather desperate. And desperate was not Lizzie York’s brand. “You’re right, just give me a call tomorrow and maybe we can meet up.”

“Sleep well, bon nuit.”

She spotted a tall, spare figure loping past the phone booth, huddled up in a coat and scarf. The absence of a hat made even his retreating figure instantly recognizable. “Good night.” She said with a forced cheeriness before hanging up.

After a brief fight with the folding phone booth door, Lizzie emerged onto the darkened pavement of the sidewalk, shivering against the cold. “Tudor.” She called, only a smidge unnerved to notice him crossing her path.

He turned on a dime, “Oh, there you are.”

Hugging her arms about herself and shuffling quickly she caught up to him with ease.

“Please tell me, did you decide to leave the party the moment I showed up?” He asked as she fell into step with him.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I was already planning on leaving. I hadn’t intended to go in the first place, and I didn’t want to be out late.” She rubbed her arms, hoping the friction would create warmth. “And you, why are you following me?”

“I’m not following you, Lizzie. Here, take my coat.” He made to unbutton his wooly and rather warm looking coat.

“No, no, I’m fine.” She wasn’t being polite, but really she couldn’t bear the thought of such a kind gesture from the last person on earth she deserved on from. After berating him a month earlier for giving her relationship advice, she had felt awful. But not awful enough to apologize. The guilt had festered and expanded in her mind.

“Well, at least take my scarf.”

“No, I’m-“

But he was already settling the blanket like tartan scarf onto her shoulders. “Like I said, I wasn’t following you. I just went to the party make an appearance, I wasn’t planning on staying long.”

She wasn’t entirely convinced, but neither did she push the issue. Instead she accepted his silent company for the walk back home.


	5. Chapter 5

Wide set green eyes hedged in by long dark lashes pierced Henry over the top of the cup lifted to the face. Rigo made a face as he lowered the drink, “That’s disgusting.” He declared definitively. “What did you say it was, again?”

“An eggnog latte.” Henry chuckled.

“”Tell her I think it’s gross.”

Henry rolled his eyes, “Tell her yourself.”

“Are you two still being… weird?” Rigo set the tall paper cup back down on the kitchen table between them where they had found it, apparently Lizzie had popped back into the flat at some point during the day and had left it behind in her haste.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried to say as nonchalantly as possible. “We’re on fine terms.”

“I mean, I know you aren’t fighting but,” Rigo really didn’t know when to shut up, did he? “But there’s still this energy with you both, this tension. Very sexual-“

“Rigo, I’m going to stop you right there,” Henry bent his head to study the list he’d scratched out in his notebook, “There’s nothing going on there, much as I know you wish there was. Now, I think the shopping list is done, you ready to go?”

Rigo stood, stretching big, his jumper inching up above the waistband of his jeans. “Alright, man, lets do this.”

Finals were just around the corner, next week really, and the flatmates had decided to host a Christmas get-together at their place. “We’ve never had a party here!” Lizzie had pleaded so sweetly, but the other two were reluctant to label it a party, they didn’t want it getting out of hand with too many invites. A get-together it was, an intimate dinner party. A last hurrah, Henry thought, half-heartedly.

“Where’s Katie today?” Henry asked as he locked up the flat behind them and Rigo waited in on the stairs.

“Not sure.” Rigo admitted, stuffing his hands in the trouser pockets. “She’s been really busy revising for exams.”

“Has she been in the library with Lizzie?” Their other flatmate had been pulling long hours at the library for the past couple of months, buckling down on the studies. He didn’t see her around the flat much these days, and if he did it was just her frame slipping between rooms as arrived in the evenings or got ready to depart in the mornings.

“If she has been, neither girl has mentioned it.” They began down the narrow winding stairs in tandem. “I asked her if she wanted to study here but she said I would just distract her. I told her it was really quiet here, but she… didn’t want to.”

“Will you two see each other over Christmas?” 

Rigo got the door out onto the sidewalk, “Nah, I’m headed back to Grenada and she’s going to see family in London.”

Henry had never claimed to know Katie well, but she had a decidedly broad Scottish accent, and he’d figured she’d be headed further up north for the holidays. “Is that where her parents live?”

“No, she has cousins or uncles or grandparents or something in London, I’m not really sure.” They joined the foot traffic on the pavement and Henry shoved the small notebook into one of the interior pockets of his jacket as Rigo asked, “Where to first?”

“I think we should get the decorations first,” Henry mused as he propped a pair of sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, “And then get the alcohol and food.”

They walked onto to the high street, which was only a handful of blocks away, chatting about finals and holiday break plans. Rigo described in minutiae all his favorite dishes his mother was going to prepare for him once he was back home and Henry talked with almost a reverent nostalgia about his old Jaguar he was taking on his tour of the isle.

“You’re going to stay at your mum’s place for Christmas though, right?” Rigo asked, as they passed the glittering Christmas displays in the shop windows, each one more elaborate than the last, shop owners eager to lure in customers and carve out their own niche in he hyper-competitive Christmas market. 

“Actually, we’re going to my Uncle’s place in Wales.” Henry said, “Gosh I miss that place, it’s an actual castle, you know?”

Rigo looked skeptical, a single dark brow cocked over one of his eyes.

“No, really. I was even born there.”

“I was born in a hospital like a regular person.” His mate countered smirking. “Why were you born in your uncle’s castle?”

“Well, it was after my dad died, and my mum was staying with my uncle for a time. Apparently there was bad storm and she couldn’t get to hospital to have me. So it was a home birth.”

“Please tell me you aren’t staying in that room.” 

“What room?”

“The room you were born in.” Rigo laughed boisterously as they ducked into Asda.

“Very funny.” Henry rolled his eyes, smiling all the while as he found them a cart.

They strolled to the decorations, taking their time as they made their way, showing each other merchandise and making fun of particularly ridiculous holidays foods and decor they found along the way. 

“Lights.” Henry announced picking a up two boxes from the shelf and dropping them into the cart. “How many strands do you think we need?”

“One for the living room, one for the kitchen?” Rigo shrugged.

“One for each room doesn’t seem like enough, I think each strand is something like… 2 meters.”

Rigo shrugged again. “Three strands for each room?”

Henry mirrored the shrug and dropped a few more boxes in the cart, “Hope that’s enough.” He laughed.

“And a wreath, of course.” Rigo picked one up from the hooks on the wall.

“Of course!” Henry motioned for his friend to put it in the cart. “What about things for the table?”

“Plates? We have those.” 

“I mean, the decoration stuff, uhh…” He cast an eye about the decor section, “like a table cloth, candles, you know, stuff.”

“I think there’s some down there.” Rigo led the way to the other end of the long aisle.

Overwhelmed by the options the guys silently pawed through the selections Asda had on offer, studying the prints, colors, patterns, sizes, shapes… Why couldn’t Lizzie come with them? This seemed like something she would excel at. She always knew what went with what, what was needed, what was missing. Missing. 

“You going to miss Katie over the break?” He asked suddenly.

His mate stilled, his eyes fixed on the folded up table cloth in his hands, shrink wrap snug around the neatly folded forest green fabric dotted with tiny Christmas trees, candles, and candy canes. “Yeah, man.” His voice echoed hollowly and he scratched at his dark hair absentmindedly. “Yeah, I think… I think she’s going to break up with me, actually.”

“What?” Incredulosity braced his tone as Henry tossed the table cloth he’d been holding back onto the shelf. “Why do you say that?”

“I can’t be the only one who sees the warning signs.” For once the smile on Rigo’s lips was a sad one. “And it’s ok, really, it was, I don’t know a fling. We had all this passion and it just burned out.” He placed the table cloth in the cart and Henry was almost sure Rigo had no idea what he was doing. Moving along to the candles next he compared the various colors, shapes, and lengths of tapers almost blindly.

“What warning signs?” Henry followed along with the cart slowly, as if afraid he’d spook his friend.

Rigo shrugged and began haphazardly handing various candles into the cart as he talked, “Oh, I don’t know she keeps putting more and more distance between us. Calls less. Doesn’t come around as much. Keeps to herself more. I know she goes out without me, thanks for the heads up on that one, by the way.” His eyes shot up to Henry at the other end of the buggy.

Hands light on the push railing, Henry swallowed hard. “Sorry, she told me she was having a girls’ night with Lizzie, I figured you already knew about it.”

“If it was a girl’s night why was she hanging out with a bunch of guys?” He shook his head and his shaggy hair whipped back and forth. “Whatever, that’s not a question for you. In any case, I think she’s going to dump me.”

“I’m sorry man.” Henry chewed on his lower lip and followed when Rigo moved to the display of tinsel, surreptitiously loading some of the candles from the cart back onto the shelf. They didn’t need forty candles, after all.

“Thanks.” Rigo threw a few handfuls of tinsel garlands into the cart. “ Anyway, I think that’s enough. Let’s get the food.”

Luckily Henry had written down exactly what they needed and in what quantity, so it was easy to keep Rigo from getting sidetracked in the grocery side of the store, though Henry did find himself occasionally unloading foods Rigo had snuck into the buggy.

It was later as they were pinning up the decorations that Henry cleared his throat, and decided to broach the subject that had been on his mind for weeks. The sound nearly caught Rigo off balance as he stood on the back of the sofa to tack the string of Christmas lights high up on the wall.

“Good grief, Tudor.” He laughed with a modicum of self deprecation as he steadied himself against the wall. “Hey, is that high enough?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Henry held the other end of the strand of lights, pinning his own portion to the wall. “Hey, can I tell you something?”

Rigo’s expression was all puzzlement. “I don’t know, depends.” 

“What? No, it’s not anything, like, weird.” He stepped back and admired their handiwork. “Go on and plug it in, let’s see.”

Rigo plugged the lights in and they came to life, weak beams of life refracting off the walls. It almost made their rundown lounge look quaint. 

“Anyway,” Henry forged ahead with his course of action, “just promise me you won't take it personally or anything.” He’d put it off as long as he could, and now that it was the last day that he could in all good conscious tell his flatmates, the timing felt all wrong. After all, Rigo had just confessed earlier that he was anticipating a breakup with his girlfriend.

“Ok, you’re really weirding me out now. Just tell me whatever it is you wan t to tell me.” Rigo crossed his arms over his chest and looked up at his friend.

“I’ve decided to move out.” The words rolled out before he had time to think about the delivery. He waited a beat, trying to gauge Rigo’s reaction. 

The smaller friend tilted his head back and closed his eyes, sighing as he rubbed his forehead with his fingers before he ran them through his thick dark hair. “Why?”

Henry continued with more trepidation than he’d begun. “I just, need more quiet, less distraction.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging his shoulders. “I wanted a place to myself, so I’ve let a little studio loft.”

Rigo took a deep breath like he was going to say something, then swallowed, perhaps thinking better of it. His mouth settled into a taut line, brows heavy over his usually mirthful green eyes. “Do you realize how bad you are fucking Lizzie and I over?”

“It’s not that bad,” Henry held up a hand, as if he could halt Rigo’s line of thought with the simple gesture. “I’ve found someone to take my place, a new flatmate for you.”

“I don’t know, I mean,” He paused, their ears attuning to the sound of a key shifting in the lock of the front door, “have you told Lizzie yet?”

“Not yet.” No, that was going to be the actual hard part. He thought he’d ease himself into the whole news-breaking business, Rigo first, then Lizzie. She was the real loose canon. 

His flatmate looked irritated as he turned to enter the kitchen, “I wouldn’t put it off too long if I were you.”

****

The guest list they’d agreed on was a small group of their closest mates. Themselves, Katie, Charles, Richard Perkin, and a handful of others. Rich Gloucester turned up with his girlfriend Anne, he and Henry had known one another for ages. Rigo had invited some other foreign exchange students. Lizzie's only invite aside from her boyfriend was her cousin Melody. She’d always kept her circle of friends and confidantes quite small, and she had few friends outside of her own relations. Or so Henry had gathered during their short — he wanted to call it a friendship — acquaintance. She’d made sure he knew his place in her mental pecking order.

Rigo and Lizzie had been in charge of all the cooking, and Henry had set up a makeshift bar in the lounge, balancing liquor bottles, plastic cups, mixers, and a bucket of ice on a footlocker he’d dragged from his room down the hall. He’d even remembered to queue up some Christmas music on the boombox, leaving a selection of Christmas themed cassettes out next to it.

The dinner party was a fun affair, much more refined than a raging party, but still fun. The food was superb, Rigo and Lizzie proved to be an effective duo in the kitchen - able to cook up an amazing roast, some of Rigo’s favorite Spanish dishes, veggies, and Lizzie’s Yorkshire puddings. “My signature dish.” She’d said when she laid them on the table.

Rich and Anne had brought a platter of enticing mince pies, and Katie had come with a tin full of tablet, each layer protected by a sheaf of wax paper. Some of the exchange students had managed to bring dishes from their own countries, while other guests had come empty handed.

“I didn’t know we were to bring anything.” Henry had heard Charles say to Lizzie as they were all sitting down to eat.

“Oh, no worries dear,” Lizzie had said, “There’s more than enough food.” 

Seated between Charles and Rigo, Lizzie somehow managed to look cute even in her ugly Christmas jumper, her blond hair pulled back by a red felt cover headband from which reindeer antlers protruded, bedecked with tiny bells, ornaments, and little glass false bulbs. 

It was a ridiculous getup, one that she had nearly changed out of just before their guests arrived when Rigo informed her that no one else was likely to be wearing a Christmas jumper. She’d looked a little put out by the comment, but Henry had encouraged her not the change, she was clearly a Christmas enthusiast.

The meal wore on pleasantly, with everyone staying relatively sober. Henry tried several times to lead various conversations out of the subject of finals, but in the end he found that it was impossible for everyone to keep exams off of their minds. 

After the meal the guys cleared the table while the girls, Lizzie, Katie, Anne, and Melody remained in the kitchen to clean the dishes and straighten the place up a bit. Back in the lounge Henry mixed up a few simple drinks for himself, Rich, and Richard. As he did so, he spotted Charles slipping out the front door, just shrugging on his coat and hat before his shadow darkened the doorway.

“What do you reckon will be on the Business Law final?” Richard was asking Rich as Henry rejoined their small group, hands full with plastic cups.

Rich combed his fingers through his loose inky black waves. “I’d bet entity formation, some basic contracts, maybe even some questions about proper corporate taxation.”

“I can imagine the prof giving some fact patterns,” Henry added, “asking us to write an essay about what type of entity to form and why. He’s been pretty keen on that in lectures.”

“You make a good point.” Rich said. “What about Modern Philosophy and Morality?”

“Oh man,” Richard sipped his drink, “That’s strong Tudor!” He grimaced against the burn of the alcohol before he addressed Rich, “I was revising my notes the other night from lectures, and Vergil seemed to really focus on corrupt or morally ambiguous leaders, as opposed to positive examples of morality.”

“I noticed that too.” Henry agreed. If Richard thought his drink was strong, he probably didn’t want to know what Henry’s own drink was like. “He also seems hyper-focused on Deontology, so I have all my Kant quotes all picked out for the essays.”

“Already?” Richard asked. 

“I started revising ages ago, too.” Rich, Henry could tell, was doing his best not to level their companion with a judgmental eye.

Perkin smiled winningly all the same, “I’ve been paying close attention all semester, I think I’ll be fine on the exam, regardless of time spent revising. And I’ve been going to the Prelaw study group every weekend. I always wondered why you never joined us, Gloucester?” Ah, so he had caught Rich’s withering gaze. “Anyway Katie’s giving me the signal, sorry mates. I promised I’d walk her home, since her place is on the way to mine.” And with that he placed his cup on the coffee table and thanked Henry for the party. “Oh, and I meant to tell you, that thing we talked about… I’m sorry, mate, I can’t any more.”

“What? Why?” Henry could feel his stomach begin to tie itself up in knots, his breath coming strangled and shallow. Naturally he kept his inner turmoil from his expression, it was something he’d been used to doing his whole life. ‘Never let them see you sweat’ was a favorite phrase of his uncle Jasper, one of the many pearls of wisdom he’d imparted to Henry as he was growing up.

“Something… came up.” Richard attempted a smile, like a glaze over the shattering information. “I’m really sorry, man. It’s complicated. Wish I could have helped.”

“I-“ Henry was lost for words. “I wish you could have too.” He’d never truly disliked Richard until that moment, had always given him the benefit of the doubt. But they’d had a deal, a firm deal, and here he was going back on it at the last moment.

“Cocky little shit.” Rich said once Perkin was out of ear shot, despite the fact that he was at least a full head shorter than Richard.

But Henry couldn’t disagree. “Arrogant bastard.” He muttered tersely into his cup, taking another swig of his drink, which was more scotch than anything else.

“Have you seen Charley?” Lizzie’s hand was just grazing his arm, her brows peaked in puzzlement over her doe eyes. The brief and innocent contact was enough to nearly undo his façade. Nearly.

“I think I saw him duck out a little bit ago.” Henry cleared his throat, uncomfortable imparting his knowledge, as if it shouldn’t be any of his business. “Maybe he went out for some smokes or something, anyway, would you like a drink?” He gestured to the modest bar.

But Lizzie was already snatching his cup from her hands. “Just a sip, I promise, I have some champagne chilling anyway.” 

When she handed his cup back to him, however, her eyes were wide and her cheeks a little rosy, but she said nothing about the strength of the drink. “Oh hey Rich,” Oh so, she was joining the conversation? “Anne was just telling me how you two are spending the holidays at one of your family’s estates. Just the two of you?”

“Uh, yeah. My family’s sort of all over the place, and Anne’s is… well they aren’t joining up for Christmas. I thought we could have a little getaway in the countryside.”

“That’s very romantic.” She smiled sweetly. “Very grown up.” 

“Like your dinner party, which was lovely.” Rich tipped his cup to them both, “Thank you for an enjoyable evening. I think it’s time for me to go find my better half and turn in early. Thanks again.”

“Looks like everyone’s leaving.” Lizzie remarked, as they turned to survey the remains of their party. And Henry couldn't help but notice that she seemed a bit depressed about it, crossing her arms over her chest as she pouted her pillowy lips.

“It’s really close to finals, I’m sure people are trying to catch up either on their revision or their sleep.” He drained his cup, “Besides, everyone said they had fun.”

xxxx

Long blond locks shrouded her face like silky curtains as Lizzie carefully folded up the table cloth. Rigo had had one glass too many of wine and it had gone straight to his head. Consequently, he was seated at the kitchen table playing himself at cards. For his own part Henry was busying himself dishing the leftover food into containers and stowing them in the fridge. The only sound in the now empty flat was that of Frank Sinatra crooning holiday carols on the radio.

“You seem sulky, Lizzie.” Rigo’s fingers deftly shifted through the glossy playing cards. “Did you not enjoy the party?”  
“I’m fine.”

Henry wasn’t about to butt in, but she clearly wasn’t fine. Rigo, on the other hand, was less inhibited by subtle social conventions. “What, is it Charley? Did he do something? Say something?”

“More like he didn’t do something.” Her voice was low, as if saying it softer was better, less valid, than a full admission. 

“You know,” Rigo played a trick, “that guy doesn’t deserve you.”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t know about.” Surprisingly, there wasn’t near the level of force to her delivery as Henry would have expected. She wasn’t bitter, it had seemed to be almost a tired phrase to her now. “If you must know, we were supposed to go to the Christmas Market tonight. But, well, I don’t think that’s happening now.”

“Like I said—“ Rigo began, but Lizzie was already shutting him down.

“Please shut up.”

Henry checked his watch as he scooped a heaping spoonful of peas into a container, “We can still go to the Christmas Market if you want.” He said. “It stays open pretty late, and it’s not far from here.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun. Rigo, you’re in, right?”

Their flatmate was already gathering in his game, stacking the cards back into a neat deck. “Yeah, of course.”

“See,” Henry gestured to Rigo, as if he was proof admitted to evidence for Lizzie’s benefit. “We’re all going. Get your coat.”

Lizzie bit her lip, hesitating for a minute. “Don’t you two have a lot of revision?”

Rigo waved a hand airily, as if dismissing the question altogether. “I don’t know about Henry, but I hadn’t planned on studying at all tonight. I figured I’d get too drunk.”

“Well, I just figured I’d be too busy to revise, so I’d written off the night also.” Henry qualified his agreement. “Anyway, let’s go.”

xxxx 

The Christmas Market was really lovely, actually. Henry had initially assumed it would be lame, like something his mother would have dragged him along to when he was a child. But it was cute, with a myriad of decorated stalls, plenty of food and hot beverages, live music, and loads of things to see and do. He was surprised, really.

And Lizzie seemed pleased, eagerly suggesting they all get some mulled wine. They mooched from stall to stall, checking out the wares for sale, the games to play, and so forth. She was so wrapped up in it all, she didn’t even realize she was still wearing her reindeer headband. Or maybe she did realize and simply chose not to take it off.

Her new found happiness only made Henry all the more reluctant to break the news to her. And on the walk home he had all but convinced himself not to tell her just then. He could put it off till the next day. 

But then Rigo had spoken up. “Henry, don’t you have some news?” He asked, during a lull in the conversation as they plodded back home, all warm and content inside from the mulled wine.

Much as he hated it, Rigo was admittedly right to prod him, and maybe he even suspected his friend’s waning spirit.

Lizzie looked up at Henry, confusion in her eyes. “Oh?”

For his own part, Henry could feel his resolve ebbing, retreating to reveal more of his latent insecurity. He couldn’t help but think maybe he was making a huge mistake. Maybe he could still back out of it all — tell his new landlord it wasn’t going to work out, sod the deposit.

But he’d never been anything if not decisive. He had made this plan for a reason, and he was going to adhere to it. Besides, he wasn’t sure he could take another five months with his bedroom door opposite hers.

“What is it, Henry? Good news, I hope.”

Shit. She even looked cautiously hopeful for once. It was time to do it, just pull it off like a plaster, Tudor, all in one go.

“I’m moving out. I won’t be living in the flat next semester.”

Her steps froze and Lizzie looked lost. “What? You’re not?” She tucked some of her stick straight blond hair behind one wind nipped ear. Her fingers caught on the festive headband and she tore it off. “Is it me? Did I do something? You can tell me. Just tell me, we can make it work. Do you not like Charley coming round, is that it?”

It seemed like the he’d chosen the wrong approach, and she was suffering from whiplash. “Lizzie no, no, it’s not…”. He shot Rigo a warning look, already anticipating some ill-timed teasing from his mate for some reason, “It’s not you.”

“Then why?” 

They were moving again now, huddled down in their coats against the cold winds that howled down the long streets. “Because I have a heavy course load next semester, and I feel like I need a quiet place to myself.”

“We can be quiet.” He can see a light flick on behind her eyes, “It’s your mom, isn’t it? She didn’t approve.”

“No.” A little bit, actually. While Margaret had loved Lizzie, she had hated the flat. And even though he wasn’t moving for that reason, it certainly helped that she’d offered to foot the bill for his new flat, if it meant improved surroundings for her only child.

“Oh, shit, the rent.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Rigo?” Stricken, was the description Henry would have gone with. Her eyes had gone wide and the color had drained from her face.

“No, no, it’s ok.” Rigo said soothingly, as he took Lizzie’s hand companionably, a gesture of comfort, “Henry’s got a new flatmate lined up for us.”

“Actually,” Henry had gone red, and not from the blistering wind. He swallowed hard. They were never going forgive him, were they? “My guy backed out.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Lizzie, it’s mum. Just checking in.” Mum’s voice crackled on the answering machine over the hum of the tape. “We’ve moved, just so you know. So Christmas may be a bit hectic this year, darling, everything is still in boxes you know. Let me give you the address…”

Moved? Lizzie’s brows knit in consternation as she slung her rucksack onto the floor and copied the new address and phone number onto the pad on her nightstand. 

She dialed up the number immediately and waited while the line rang. Mum had never so much as mentioned a moved to her in the past, not that she’d noticed any how.

“Hello?” 

“Mum?” Lizzie leaned up against her headboard and drew her knees up to her chest. “I just got your message.”

“Oh yes, well how are you darling? Are finals going alright?” She sounded a touch frazzled almost, and there were echoes of children in the background, Lizzie’s younger siblings no doubt.

“Alright, I think. I just finished up an English Literature final.” She had so many questions.

But her mum took advantage of Lizzie’s hesitation to fill the beat with ever more questions. Did she think she was doing well in uni? Had she signed up for the spring semester classes yet? What classes was she taking? Had she made some good friends? And a million other questions that gave Lizzie over to thinking that her mum was avoiding the obvious. “Are you ready for your break?” She asked at long last.

“Yeah, actually mum, that reminds me. You said you had moved? What happened there? I thought you liked your place in Kensington?”

“I did, I just wanted a change.” Lizzie had the distinct impression that Betty was putting on the dismissive tone she had adopted.

“So you moved… to Hanger Lane?” She ran her fingers over the address her mother had recited on the recording.

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation. “Yes, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s quite lovely, you know. We have a nice park here”

“Sure, ok.” Lizzie decided to drop the subject, she was beginning to think the topic had touched on Betty’s pride. “Now, tell me, are you in a home, or a flat or…”

“It’s a flat, two bedrooms, two bathrooms.”

She almost hated to ask, “And, there’ll be a place for me to crash for Christmas?”

“Of course dear.” There was a clatter on the other end of the line, and her mum scolded one of the children, the receiver muffled as she did so. “Sorry, darling. Yes, we’ll go see Thomas and Richard for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but you are welcome to stay here for the holidays. Cecily, Ann, and Catherine have the second bedroom, and Bridget and I have the larger room. But we’ll find room for you.”

“Sounds cozy.” She tried to inject some optimism into her voice. “Like old times. Remember that old council flat we shared while dad was on the continent looking for job opportunities?” It had been a failed venture.

“Sometimes it does remind me of that place.” And for the first time Lizzie could hear something of a dismal strain to her mother’s tone. “Anyway, we’ll have some lovely roasts and you can make your Yorkshire puddings and Cecily has gotten so much better at cooking, you’ll see. All the girls miss you terribly, Lizzie. But we all understand how hard it is for you to visit. Have you got your train ticket yet?”

“No mum, but I’ll call you as soon as I have so you’ll know when to meet me at the platform.” The thought of seeing her family again did make Lizzie almost happy. Almost. “Hey mum, I’m sorry but I’ve got to jump off. I have another final tomorrow and I need to do some last minute revision.”

“Alright, darling, well we love you.”

“Love you too.”

Her mother’s move only served to remind Lizzie of her own predicament. Henry would be moving out at the end of the week, and she and Rodrigo has been unable to find a replacement flatmate. It certainly didn’t help that they were trying to rent out Henry’s room, far and away the smallest bedroom in the flat. She would have called it a glorified dim little cupboard if it weren’t for the lovely tall window on the long wall which created a cozy alcove into which Henry had set his desk. 

Initially, after he’d let her know he was moving out, Lizzie had been tempted to give him the full-on cold shoulder treatment. But she knew that would only serve to distract herself through finals. Also, Rigo had asked her to be nice.

So, when Lizzie left her room she was good enough to peek into Henry’s small chamber. “Hey, I’m going to be making some bolognese, would you like some?” Being nice to Henry Tudor, after how shit he’d treated her and Rigo, grated on Lizzie’s every nerve, but the emotional taxation of actively hating him wasn’t exactly an option at the moment. 

“Oh, sure,” he started to get up from his desk, blinking hard as he took off his glasses before tossing them atop the book he’d been studying, “Here, let me help.”

“Actually,” she took a step back into the hallway, “I’ve already recruited Rigo to the task.” Lizzie made a quick study of the tidy pile of cardboard boxes in the corner. It was hard to imagine what Henry had managed to pack so far, the room had been spartan to begin with and his furnishings were limited strictly to the essentials.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, thanks for the offer, though.” 

Rigo was already in the kitchen, just getting out a cutting board and a knife. He had been sulking in the lounge when she had come home and asked for his help with dinner. She had a feeling she knew why his countenance was so downcast. Katie had told her the other week that she was thinking of splitting up with Rigo before the holidays. And she had to hand it to Katie, it was a rather shit situation to put Rigo in.

On top of the news that Henry was moving out, on top of the struggle to fill the room, on top of the difficulty of final exams, Katie had gone and broken up with Rigo. Lizzie had suggested her friend wait until after Christmas, but Katie was insistent that it had to be done before the holidays.

And, apparently, today had been the ill fated day she had chosen.

“Hey, what’s up?” Lizzie asked as she filled an oversized pot with water from the tap.

“Nothing… much. You?”

With her back turned, Lizzie was able to safely roll her eyes — he didn’t need to pretend he was ok. “I’m good. You seem pretty down.”

There was a beat of silence as she set the pot on the hob and turned up the heat. Rigo was busy peeling the papery skin off a purple onion, the gentle rustles and the sound of the gas ticking before igniting were the only sounds in the kitchen.

“It’s Katie. She ended it.” Rigo was turned from her, busy dicing the onion, but she could just glimpse his sad green eyes beyond his hunched shoulders.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She touched his arm softly, her fingers closing over the silky green material of his bomber jacket. 

It had been hard for her to know what to do with the knowledge Katie had passed on to her, about her intent to break up. Telling Rigo in advance would be a betrayal to Katie, and not telling Rigo almost seemed insensitive to their friendship as well. She didn’t like being in the middle, and so she’d done her best to absent herself from the matter. 

Lizzie didn’t even want to think of how awkward it would be in the future, maintaining a friendship with Katie while still sharing a flat with Rigo. That was an issue for another time. Right now she needed to think about Rigo. She would have called to comfort Katie, but she suspected her friend was not in need of reassurance. The girl had seemed only to eager to break it off with Rigo.

“At least you broke up before it got too serious.” She said before she opened a cupboard and got out a box of pasta. “I mean, you wouldn’t want to date for like a year and break up…”

He sighed and scooped up the diced onion on the flat of his broad chef’s knife, depositing it neatly into the pan. “I honestly didn’t ever see us getting that far.” He admitted as he peeled a few cloves of garlic. “She was fun, but it was clear from the get-go that she wasn’t looking for anything but a place-holder.”

“Huh?” What was this strange turn of events?

“Yeah, Katie, she…” Rigo shrugged, making quick work of the garlic cloves, “She seems like the type of girl who always has to have a boyfriend. I was just someone fun to pass the time while she looked for someone else. I mean, that’s how I feel.”

She couldn’t say he was wrong. Katie did always seem to have some guy or other she was stringing along, it was just her personality. Wasn’t that why she had set them up? Because she knew it would be easy to get Katie on board? Oh hell, was this whole breakup her own stupid fault?

“At least you get to go home soon, see family, load up on good food…” She had no idea if what she was saying was comforting or not. “Just a few more finals and we’re done with this semester.”

Rigo smiled weakly, “You don’t have to… do that. I’m fine, I promise. It’s just… no one likes rejection, ya know?”

“Yeah, of course.”

****

Home wasn’t really home when it wasn’t home at all. Not this time anyway.

Even though everyone was there, and all their stuff was shoved in the tiny flat, and it smelled like mum’s Chanel No. 5, it wasn’t home at all. There was no staircase where the varnish had been all but rubbed from the bannister, there were no pencil hight markings on the inside of the pantry door, it just wasn’t home.

After dad had died, mum had moved them all into a nice, respectable, small home in Kensington. She wasn’t sure of the logistics of it, but somehow mum had been able to afford it. But this place? This was clearly a council flat. And clearly they could afford no better.

It was cramped, dim, and run down. But mum, bless her soul, had enough good grace to pretend all was well and welcome her in cheerily.

Between her, her mum, and her four sister, Lizzie found that her spot to crash was on the sofa. She insisted it was comfortable, really, to save her mum from the embarrassment she was so good at hiding and bearing up under.

They spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with her older half brothers, but really the whole break proved to be nothing but yet another chapter of misery in her already crap year. The flat was always cold, one of the showers broke and they couldn’t get anyone to come fix it, and the upstairs neighbors were always stomping about and fighting.

The final straw had been the prediction of snow in the forecast. She hated to admit it to herself, but she didn’t think she could handle being cooped up there with her family. Lizzie felt terrible about it, but she hated to see how far her family had fallen and how dire the circumstances had become. Her mother had once been a great lady, the wife of a politician. These days she was working the till at Tesco and providing for four daughters on her meager pay. It was depressing, and it was more than Lizzie could handle.

And so she had begged off, with the excuse that she had to head back to hers so she could interview some prospective flatmates. She’d told her mother about her flatmate leaving, but had presented it as a minor inconvenience, hardly worthy of any fretting whatsoever.

Really, it was inconsequential when compared to her mum’s predicament. If worst came to worst she would just have to get a job to cover the excess rent.

It was only December 27 when Lizzie arrived back. As she stepped into the lounge the first thing she noticed were the Christmas lights strung across the room, winking at her as if mocking her in this miserable season of her life.

She dropped her bags with a heavy thud on the floor and yanked the cord from the socket, effectively killing the little multicolored lights. Climbing up onto the back of the sofa she began tugging the strands off of the walls.

“Holy hell!”

Lizzie nearly jumped out of her skin and stumbled, falling onto the cushions with not an ounce of grace. 

“Tudor!” She reprimanded, from where she had fallen on her ass, a hand over her heart. “You gave me a fright!” They were not words of relief, but of ire, an accusation. 

“I gave you a fright? I could have sworn we were being robbed!” He offered her his hand, but she refused it and got to her feet herself.

“There’s hardly anything here for a robber.” She muttered. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be on some grand tour of the isles or galavanting off at some castle somewhere?”

He looked a little rueful, his hands having returned to their habitual position deep in the pockets of his jeans. “Actually, I just drove up from Wales, where I was with family.”

“And your road trip?”

“I axed it.” He motioned to a tidy cluster of boxes just inside the front door. “I’ve been packing.”

Her eyes slipped from the cardboard boxes back to him, “Well, don’t let me interrupt you.” She moved toward her bags, but he was already scooping them up.

“I can get those.” She insisted, tagging behind him as he brought them to her room.

Henry looked back at her as his easy gait carried him into her room, “I know.”

The look silenced her. He was trying. And she should let him. She didn’t have the energy tonight to be mad at him, to be mad at everything.

Setting the bags atop her floral print duvet he looked around quietly. She’d never really let him into her domain before, and he looked out of place in there. His black Levis and thick, emerald green, cable-knitted fisherman’s jumper at odds with her utterly feminine bedroom. 

“Have you had dinner yet?” He asked abruptly, checking his wrist watch. “It’s about 9.”

“No, I figured I’d just-“

“There isn’t a scrap of food in the house, I’ll warn you.” There was the ghost of a smile playing on his lips, “It seems Rigo cleared the place out before he left.”

“Oh.” Lizzie tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, she didn’t exactly relish the idea of heading down to the co-op so late at night.

“I haven’t ate yet either, let’s go down to the pub.” He backed out of her doorway, “If I’m not mistaken, you look like you could use a drink.”

She grinned despite herself, following him into the hallway, “That obvious, huh?”

The pub was fairly busy despite the holidays and it’s normally dark interior had been improved with fairy lights and other festive decor which only enhanced it’s usually intimate atmosphere. There were folks scattered about at the booths, the tables, and at the bar. The televisions set into the shelves behind the bar, ensconced among the luminescent bottles, were framed by garlands of evergreen. Broadcasts were limited to children’s Christmas films, an odd choice, but one Lizzie could appreciate, even if her own Christmas this year had been so dismal and bleak.

“Shall we take a booth?” Henry suggested. 

A booth seemed rather too cozy for her tastes, she was only just starting off on a good foot with Henry for what felt like the hundredth time and she wasn’t really ready to get cozied up in a booth with him. “How about we sit at the bar?” She countered.

“The bar it is,” he motioned for her to lead the way.

They ordered roast dinners and sipped their drinks while they waited. Henry had gone for a classic Guinness, but Lizzie - too embarrassed to order up her usual Champagne or even a wine - had opted for a stout tumbler of Jack and Coke. This had earned her an ironical expression from Henry, but she ignored him.

“How was your Christmas?” She asked, swirling her ineffectual little red straw in her dark drink.

Henry shrugged, “The same as always. A little get together at my uncles’, a big dinner, walks about the grounds, some tennis in the indoor court, lots of drinking and music.” Her quietness begged him to go on. “We love Christmas, but we’re a small family. It’s just me, my mum, my uncle Jasper, his half-brother David who’s my age and goes to St. Andrews, and my step-dad. And we spend the whole time in this big old remote castle alternating between shared laziness and bouts of energetic competition. I won this big singles tennis match this year and everyone was too bitter after to even think about playing doubles.”

“You sound like a right jolly bunch.” She teased softly. “But honestly, it sounds like good fun.”

“And your Christmas?” At the moment he was seemingly preoccupied with an advert on the television, but when she prevaricated for longer than was necessary his gaze fell on her, toying with her straw again.

“Different. Not bad, but… different.” It wasn’t strictly true, but it was the least depressing assessment she was willing to make.

“Is that…” He eyed their plates coming out of the kitchen, but continued all the same, “Is that why you came back?”

She gave a halfhearted scoff that morphed into a weak smile, her eyes darting from his as she resisted the urge to confide in him. “Yeah, no, there were some callers interested in the flat and I decided to come up and field the applicants.”

He was quiet while their plates were set down before them, considering her evasion no doubt. “I’m sorry I had to leave you both in that awful scrape.”

“You didn’t have to.” It was small dig, but one she thought he deserved.

Henry didn’t have a retort or even an explanation. “I really am sorry.” He picked at his roast potatoes. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d get more interest if your room were the one up on offer. It’s the biggest in the flat, and it’s got those corner windows.”

“What, and I’d take your old room?” 

“I’d even help you move your stuff from your room to the other.”

The thought was practical, sure, but a little unsettling. His old room? Could she ever feel at home in there? Her reluctance, she was sure, had nothing to do with their own strange tension. It had always been his private realm, where he had secreted himself away for hours of studying. For her own part, Lizzie had only ever allowed herself to linger in his door jamb or perch on the edge of his bed if the conversation had gone on long enough to necessitate sitting. “I’ll think about it.”

There was a small moment where they were enveloped by the sounds around them, and the conversation flagged, and they picked at their dinners. At last he broke the silence. “Are you terribly mad at me?” Henry asked uneasily.

Lizzie considered this as she moved some mushy peas about on her plate. “I’m - I’m trying really hard not to be.” It was probably one of the first times she had been totally candid with him, she reflected. And it didn’t hurt nearly as much as she thought it would.

They finished up their dinner and Henry claimed the bill to her exclusion, paying the whole thing against her protests. 

“So, where’s Charles for break?” Henry asked as he held the door out of the pub for her.

“Back in France. With his family in Paris.” She always got a little touchy when either guy brought the other up. In her mind they existed in separate worlds which she hated to see mesh.

“Has he called to wish you a ‘joyeux noël’?” Henry wound a scarf about his neck and shoulders as Lizzie buried her hands in the deep pockets of her worn out pea coat while they walked back up the street to their building.

“No, but he’ll have plenty of time to do so once he’s back.”

“And when will that be?”

What was he getting at? Was he testing her? Them? Their relationship? “When the semester starts.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, Merry Christmas, Lizzie.”

There was a light pressure between her shoulder blades and Lizzie realized after a moment that it was Henry’s hand on her back. As she looked up into his face she saw not his usual ironical expression, nor that squinting look he gave when reading, but rather she could see just beyond the glare on his wire framed glasses a warmth in his grey eyes and something of a fond smile playing on his lips.

Why was he like this? She could never really get a clear read on him. If he wasn’t shifting gears from terse to apologetic, he was doing dumb shit like this which drummed up feelings she wasn’t entirely sure were warranted. 

“Merry Christmas, Henry.” Was her echo as she quickened to step out of his reach.


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn’t hard to get back into the swing of classes after the break. Henry liked to work, liked to keep busy, to keep his mind engaged. He’d already given most of his course books a light perusal and knew his schedule by heart. 

It was odd now, living by himself. It wasn’t that he wasn’t cut out for it, because really it suited his reclusive nature quite to a tee, but rather, he did sometimes miss having others around him. Maybe that was why he spent so much time on campus or else holed up in a cafe sipping coffee and working on his assignments. 

He was at one such place on the Friday of the first week of the semester, a quaint little coffee shop just down the road from his new flat. They didn’t have places like this in his old neighborhood. Just the little corner pubs and loads of residential buildings cramped together and nearly tumbling down. He was on the other side of campus now, the posher side, he realized.

Henry leaned back in his chair, pushing his wire frame glasses up to band about his crown as he rubbed at his sore eyes. The font in his economics text was positively minuscule and he had to take frequent breaks. Or at least, his Ophthalmologist had warned him that it was good for him to take such breaks so as to avoid eye strain.

Eye strain? Henry hardly believed that was a real thing at all.

Outside the oversized plate glass picture window of the coffee shop, the street was still afflicted by winter. The periodic tree that was permitted through the concrete slabs of the sidewalk had been stripped bare with the season. A fierce wind was tearing down the street, setting scarves to wagging and dress hems to fluttering. And the wan light of a cloud shrouded sun set a gray cast about the whole tableau. 

That was when he caught a particular figure come into view. The frame was rather average in stature, but he walked with the confidence of a much taller man, all squared shoulders and long strides. Even though the guy was turned away from him, Henry could just envision that flashing smile, that dark hair, that perpetual five-o’clock shadow, and those irritatingly lethargic eyes anywhere. Charles Valois. 

He was companioned by a distinctly female figure who was busied languorously wending a purple blanket scarf about herself. She was rather too petite to be Lizzie, he guessed, his fair haired former flatmate had always been just a hair taller than Charles. But maybe that was down to the heels of her favorite boots, boosting her over her boyfriend. 

Henry watched with interest as they passed, sipping his coffee. 

The girl pulled down the edge of her beanie over her ears before she tucked a forearm behind her neck to lift her hair out from under the scarf. Glossy rings of chestnut brown hair slipped up over the garment and tumbled down her back in a cascade.

So, not Lizzie. Not at all. But perhaps just a platonic friend? Henry wasn’t banking on it. He knew Charles’ reputation, and unlike Lizzie he didn’t feel obligated to give the Frenchman the benefit of the doubt.

Setting down his coffee, Henry scooted to the edge of his chair and propped his chin upon the back of his fisted hand. Any outsider would have thought he was merely people watching, but Henry’s gray-blue eyes were focused on one particular set of passerby.

His eyes trained on them, he mentally tracked them to the far street corner, where Charles took the girl’s hand as he spoke to her. An innocuous enough gesture, they seemed to be parting ways. Then all at once Charles was cradling her cheek in his gloved palm, pressing his lips to hers, there on the street corner in broad day light.

Bold as brass, that one.

As two figures set off on their differing paths, getting lost in the foot traffic, Henry tried to return to his studies; but distractions brought on by his own mind kept puncturing through his resolve. Should he tell Lizzie? Was that his place, his role? She’d gotten so mad at him the last time he’d tried, but now he had proof seen with his own two eyes, would that change her outlook? Or did he confront Charles? He knew where Charles’ office was on campus, he could wait for him there and give him an ultimatum. But maybe that would only enrage Lizzie more? In fact, he knew it would. 

The knowledge he’d just acquired was burning a hole in his conscience. The need to be a good friend and the desire to appease Lizzie were at odds with one another. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” Rigo stood above him, his fingers bracing on Henry’s table. “I guess you lost track of the time, but Lizzie and I have been trying your buzzer for a couple of minutes.”

“I’m so sorry!” Henry briskly began snapping books shut and shoving his work into his pack. “I haven’t checked my watch in ages.”

“No worries.” His friend said amenably as he watched. “How’s the new place working out any way?”

“It’s been… good, yeah it’s been…” He slung his pack over one shoulder and began trekking to the door outside, “what I needed.”

Rigo followed him out and stepped into pace with him on the sidewalk outside. “Well, we miss you back at the old place, it’s so quiet.”

“Oh?” Henry wanted to say the same, that he was lonely on his own, but as the leaving party he felt he’d forfeited his right to say such things. “How’ve you been?”

His friend rolled his eyes but smiled all the same, “I know you don’t want to ask about the breakup, but really, I’m ok. I’ve… moved on.”

“New girl?”

He snorted, “Nope, new course of study. Medicine. I’m done with girls, I need to focus on what’s important, why I’m here.” Rigo shivered against the cold, “I went home at Christmas and I was back in my old family home and — Henry, man, I saw my whole future laid out in front of me there; living in that house with my mother, and working an average job, and just following in my father’s footsteps and… I don’t know but something snapped. I want to stay here, in England, and I want to do well, and I want to be important.”

Henry knew the feeling. He’d always wanted to be important too. But not for the same reason. Not in spite of his family, but because of it. His mother expected him to be a great man, and he had never been the kind to let his mum down. His uncle had been so supportive, and Henry couldn’t ignore that. His family was full of important people, and in his heart he knew he would be their next patriarch, in a way.

“Good on you, mate.” He said, as they approached his building, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “It sounds like you’ve found a direction.”

Fair of feature and all rosy cheeked, Lizzie was huddled in the door embrasure just beside the buzzer, her eyes watering against the cold wind. “Hey, you.” Henry greeted as he let her inside, “sorry about the wait, I’ve been a total dunce.”

“Henry Tudor? A dunce?” She scoffed as she brushed past him into the narrow atrium, “Never.”

“It’s more likely than you think.” He led the way up the cramped staircase and unlocked his door.

The others filed in behind him as he shrugged off his jacket. “Well, here we are. Have a nosey about. There’s not much to it really.”

His flat was a small studio, the entryway featured doors that led into the loo and a large cupboard. Within the main area of the flat was a scaled down kitchen, stripped to the essentials, as well as his bed, desk, sofa and television. It wasn’t exactly a shoebox flat, in fact it was rather spacious for a studio. Or maybe that was a trick played on the eye by the oversized windows along the far wall. The unit retained as much of the original aspects of the building as possible, something Lizzie would probably label as “charm”; the wide baseboards, the paneled doors, the worn hardwood floors.

“It’s so…”. Lizzie tapped a finger against her lips before pronouncing her verdict, “You.”

Henry cocked a head to one side, unsure how to interpret the statement. “It’s alright, you can tell me if you don’t like it.”

“No, I like it.” She turned to face him. “It’s a good thing.” Lizzie had shrugged out of her camel colored coat and Henry was amazed how she could make a black turtleneck and a faded pair of Levi’s look so… well he couldn’t imagine her looking better in anything else, nearly.

“Henry did you get the drinks?” Rigo asked.

“Yeah they’re in the-“ His eyes alighted on Rigo, already rooting through the kitchen. “Fridge.” Some things never changed, he reflected.

The plan was to have a small housewarming party. Small being the operative word. Somewhere along the line that idea had been thrown out the window and all their friends and acquaintances had been invited. Henry had protested that the flat was too small for the guest list, but historically that had never hindered any uni students in the past. Rigo and Lizzie had come ostensibly to help set up, but in truth there was little to set up at all. 

The music was arranged, the drinks set out, the furniture moved, and Henry had transferred his stacks of books into the hall cupboard (lest they be upset). He could only assume his ex-flatmates had really come by early to just hang out.

Soon after, folks began filing in and Rigo dimmed the lights and began working the tunes on the stereo. Lizzie went to the kitchen to fix herself a drink and Henry followed her haltingly. He still hadn’t decided whether or not he would tell her about what he had seen that day. “How’s your semester been so far?” He asked instead.

“Boring. And yours?” She plucked a disposable plastic cup from the stack on the worktop.

“Same. Just the usual school work.” He got a cup for himself and considered a bottle of gin. “How are things back at the old abode?”

Lizzie’s lips twisted at one corner as she shrugged. “Quiet. Thanks for helping me move my stuff into… the other room.”

“Any takers for the spare room?”

“Nah.” She splashed a heavy measure of scotch into her cup, which surprised Henry. She wasn’t really a scotch kind of girl. He would have pegged her as going for a nice vodka tonic.

“What about all those people you interviewed for it?”

Lizzie reached a bare hand into the ice bucket and clawed out a fistful of ice cubes to deposit in her cup. “Nothing panned out. I’m still interviewing though.”

There was some chill to her demeanor over the subject, which Henry had been anticipating. He wanted to know how she and Rigo were covering the rent, but he supposed that not only was it not his place to ask, but that asking it would only upset her more.

“I do like you place, though. Did you pick it out or did your mum?” It wasn’t exactly kindly meant he sensed, but he was entirely deserving of the remark.

“I did.”

“A very gentrified neighborhood. You suit it.”

That wasn’t fair, his family was an old and prestigious one. Just as prestigious as hers. But he said nothing of it to her. Perhaps seeing him all settled in and comfortable after parting ways stung her pride. She wasn’t mad with him, that much he knew, but he could tell that she wanted to impress on him how much it had ticked her off when he left.

“Is your friend Katie coming?” He asked, “Because you know, Rigo-“

“Yeah, no. I asked her not to come. Besides, I think she’s been seeing someone new, she’s been keeping a really low profile.”

“Who’s been keeping a low profile?” Rich asked as he stepped up to make drinks for himself and Anne. “Just kidding, Tudor.” He clapped Henry on the shoulder good naturally and gestured to the flat. “Nice place, man. You know, Annie and I have a place in this building as well.”

“Oh? I had no idea, actually.” He didn’t even know that the two shared a flat in the first place.

Anne peeked into Lizzie’s cup, “Oh, what did you go for?”

“Scotch on the rocks.” Lizzie admitted a little sheepishly.

“How naughty!” She attempted to tuck a lock of her short blond bob behind one ear. “Rich, can you make me one of those, please?” Anne asked, “Come on Lizzie, let’s go find a seat.”

As Anne led Lizzie off Henry returned his attention to Rich. “Those two seem to get on.” He remarked.

“Yeah, they have a few classes together this semester and have been hanging out.” Rich said. “It’s been good for Annie, she has a hard time finding good mates.”

Henry couldn’t fathom why. She seemed like a nice enough girl. “Well, I’m sure it’s good for both of them. Hey, man, have you seen Richard around? I see him in class, but haven’t been able catch up with him.” 

Rich set Anne’s drink to the side and began mixing his own. “I haven’t seen him outside of class at all, and even then he seems to duck out really quick once class is over.” His fingers danced over the bottles before him, unsure of the selection. “Not that I really want to catch up with him anyway, I hate to say it but, he isn’t exactly my favorite.”

“I think a lot of people have the same opinion as you.” Henry took a step back toward the fridge, “Would you prefer a beer?”

Rich brushed one of his glossy black curls off of his forehead. “Actually, yeah, that’d be great. I’m not much of a liquor drinker, honestly.”

Henry handed him a beer and Rich opened it and took a sip. “What’s your beef with Perkin anyway?”

He quite nearly spat out his own drink from surprise. “Beef?” Where had that come from. “No, there’s no beef, I’m just a bit… miffed with him.”

“Miffed?” Rich gave him an ironic look.

“We had a deal and he… backed out on it at the last minute.” He swirled his drink in his cup, looking down into the liquid so as to avoid Rich’s appraising eyes. The guy had a way of taking in more than you projected and processing it quietly. It could be, frankly, unsettling. Then again, Henry had been told he had the same uncanny ability to read others. “He was supposed to take my place at the old flat. Then he bailed.”

“That sucks.” Rich took another pull from his bottle. “Anyway,” He picked up the drink he’d made for Anne and together the guys made their way towards the girls on the other side of the flat.

Just as they approached the girls, who were sat on Henry’s sofa gabbing about whatever it was girls talked about, Lizzie popped up and absentmindedly shoved her empty cup into Henry’s hand. His eyes followed as she bounded to the door and bounced on her tip toes, to receive a kiss. Charles was here. 

A fire churned in Henry’s stomach. She looked so pleased to see him, and Charles looked at her so kindly. What a farce. What a load of bollocks. 

“When are you going to do something about that?” Rich gestured to the scene the two lovebirds were making.

“Rich!” Anne admonished her boyfriend. “Don’t pay him any mind, Henry, he can be cheeky at the worst moments sometimes.”

Henry had managed to arrange his expression into one of serene indifference. “I honestly have no idea what you two are on about.” 

Rich and Anne exchanged glances. He figured they weren’t exactly convinced by him. “Anyway, I’ve got some people to go say hi to…”. Henry extricated himself from the couple and made a turn about the one room flat.

Lizzie’s cousin Melody was there, chattering with some other girls he didn’t recognize. Acquaintances of his from class had shown up, rather unexpectedly. He inserted himself in a discussion with some classmates about one of their courses, so as to distract himself from the irresistible magnetic pull to watch Charles’ every move. One would hardly know by his body language towards Lizzie that he was cheating on her. Though, he supposed to expect otherwise was perfectly ridiculous. 

“What do you think Henry?” One of the boys suddenly asked.

“Sorry, what?” He blinked hard and took a swig from his cup.

“About war, from an ethical standpoint.”

“It’s too expensive.” The response was automatic.

“No, from an ethical-“

He waved a hand and took another swig, shaking his head all the while, “Expense is an ethical consideration. Alright lads, I’ve got to get another.”

Draining the last of his drink as he stepped to the kitchenette, Henry could barely keep from groaning when he realized Lizzie and Charles were headed in the same direction. Although, avoiding them within his studio flat was hardly realistic.

“You have a fine place here.” Charles said.

Henry raised his cup as if to say “cheers mate” before he turned to mix himself something nice and strong. Rigo sidled in on Henry’s other side, reaching for a bottle of rum and clearly eavesdropping, not that Henry cared.

“You aren’t too far from me, actually, only a few blocks. So, I suppose we’re something like neighbors, eh?” The Frenchman continued in his ridiculous accent. Henry had spent enough time in France to know Charles was laying it on pretty thick. “It” being his Frenchness.

“Charles,” Henry handed off a cup to the guy, inviting him to come pour himself something, and when he was close enough and fixing his drink Henry lowered his voice, “Je connais ton jeu, mon ami.” He raised his eyebrows at Charles when he looked up into Henry’s face, “Je connais. N’oublie pas.”

Something like surprise and confusion dawned in Charles’ shark like dark eyes. “I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean. But… cheers.” He moved away with a cup in either hand, pressing one into his girlfriend’s hands as they turned away.

“Take it down a notch, man.” Rigo warned, dropping a few ice cubes in his cup. “Maybe, like, try to be nice to him, ya know, for the sake of your friendship with Lizzie?” 

Perhaps Henry should not have been so irritated, then, when a mere fifteen minutes later the couple passed him and Rigo on their way out. “Nice party, Tudor. Enjoy your new flat.” Lizzie said unkindly as she brushed past him, her hand securely in Charles’ grip half a step ahead of her.

“Where are you- why are you-“ Henry blurted out half formed questions in rapid succession. 

“It’s Charles, he… I don’t know…”. She looked equal parts frustrated and confused. “Talk soon. See you at home, Rigo,” were her promises just before the door onto the landing slammed shut behind her.


	8. Chapter 8

“You sure do have a lot of photos of Charles up there.”

Lizzie was sat cross legged on the foot of her bed in a pair of fluffy socks, joggers, and a cozy jumper. She peeked up from her literature notes to spy Anne laying on her back across Lizzie’s bedspread, legs propped up against her wall, and studying her friend’s cork board over the pages of the book in her beringed hand.

“Well he is my — we are dating.” She had wanted to say boyfriend, but that didn’t seem right. Charles had never put labels on them and so she hadn’t either. 

Anne lowered the book so it was spread, pages down, across her ribs, “Yes but… don’t you two have any photos together?” She tilted her pointed chin in Lizzie’s direction and her eyes shone with a false innocence. It was clear to her, and had been since day one, that no one approved of her relationship with Charles. However she thought Anne, of all people, would be more sympathetic to her plight - what with her own problematic relationship?

“These are just ones I’ve taken of him, or ones he sent me over break. I’m sure I have some of the both of us on one of my rolls of film.” She gestured vaguely at her desk, piled high with all manner of books, and makeup, and jewelry boxes, and unorganized notes on loose sheafs of paper, and bottles of perfume, and keepsakes. “I know I’ve taken loads of us. He took me on a boat ride just this past weekend on the river, and I know for sure I had one of us taken then.”

Anne merely flashed an arch smile and took up her book again. “And how are things with the new flatmate?”

“Great. Of course.” Lizzie’s eyes returned to her notes. “Melody and I have always got on, so it just made sense. Rigo doesn’t seem to mind living with two girls. So, all’s well.”

“The dynamic in the flat must have change, though?” Anne flipped a page.

It had. “Some.” There was certainly less drama. Melody was a keen student and spent a lot of time away from the flat, hard at work on her nursing degree. She and Rigo even had a few courses together and so they had plenty enough in common to get on well. Rigo himself had become more studious, but always studied in the lounge so as not to miss any of the goings on in the flat. Lizzie for her own part had become decidedly more insular. There had been a shift in her ever since Christmas, and it wasn’t entirely intentional. Circumstances she had participated in had seemed to bring out a side of her she couldn’t entirely control. And she didn’t like it.

Anne’s chatter broke through her revery unexpectedly. “You still planning on taking Charles to the museum tomorrow?”

“Uh… yeah, I don’t think so.” She ducked her head and shuffled through her notes. “Charles phoned me earlier and let me know he couldn’t make it. Something important came up.”

“What was it?”

“I uh… I didn’t ask. But, I don’t think he’d cancel unless it wasn’t terribly important.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t buy your tickets ahead.” She cast an eye on Lizzie. “Oh shit, you totally did, didn’t you?”

Lizzie sighed. “And the train tickets. Hey, look, if you want, I can give them to you and Rich. You can make a date out of it.”

“I wish we could, love,” She bit her lip and her brows were peaked in sympathy, “But Rich and I both have big exams on Monday we’re studying for. We couldn’t possibly…”

“Melody and Rigo both can’t go. And Katie has been MIA. I may just go by myself, or…”. Lizzie hated to sound so pathetic, especially in front of a new friend like Anne, “Or, I may just have to eat the cost.”

“Oh, I hope it won’t come to that. It’d be a shame to let all that go to waste.” Anne cooed.

Lizzie untucked her legs from under her and let them dangle over the edge of the bed, she hoped it didn’t come to that either, but it certainly looked like it would. “Anyway, what exam are you studying for?”

“My Renaissance Literature exam.” She flashed the cover of her book at Lizzie. “Machiavelli’s ‘The Prince’ is the primary text on the exam.”

“Lucky you.” Lizzie teased. “Machiavelli spends the whole book speaking about a the ideal prince, while actually promoting the idea of republics over monarchies. I’m not saying it wasn’t an admirable guise, but, overall he’s rather self-contradictory, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Rich thinks there are parts or concepts that are particularly good, even still today, but I tend to think that Machiavelli’s idea that the ends justify the means isn’t exactly a good rule of thumb. I mean, sure, it’s probably necessary some times, but I wouldn’t start applying that philosophy to everything.”

The study session carried on in comfortable waves of conversation and concentration. Every now and again the question of the museum tickets tugged at her. She really was disappointed that Charles couldn’t make it, she’d set up the outing a couple of weeks ago so he had plenty of advance notice… but she supposed it really must have been urgent if he had to cancel something that important with her. Lizzie just had to figure out what to do with the tickets.

Long after Anne had packed up her things and gone home, Lizzie gave Katie another ring. She had been missing her old friend but was convinced the absence and radio silence were due to her new flavor of the week. The line seem to ring for an eon, and Lizzie was beginning to doubt Katie had answering machine at all, when it finally clicked on.

“Hi, you’ve reached Katie’s answering machine. I’m not in at the moment. Please leave a message and I’ll phone you back later. Mwah!” 

Shaking her head dismally, Lizzie slipped the phone back onto the cradle, killing the line. 

****

By the time Lizzie dragged herself out of her bedroom and into the kitchen, Melody had already left to meet her study group in the campus library. But Rigo was still there, installed at the kitchen table with a tea and plate of biscuits. 

“Morning.” She greeted lazily, as she popped the kettle on for the second time that morning. 

“Good morning.” He looked up from an anatomy text book displaying the bared muscle of a human arm that almost made her lose her appetite. 

It was a nice sunny day outside, she could see from the kitchen window, though cold if the draft from under the sash was anything to go by. Lizzie leaned her back against the worktop as her kettle boiled and surveyed the stillness of the day. The morning light played in an illuminated square on the creaky old hardwoods, as dust motes danced in the beams. She wondered how she would fill her day. Certainly she wouldn’t go down to London by herself, tour the museum solo, and return. For some, maybe that was alright. But for her… she couldn’t enjoy things like that alone.

There was a knock at the door in the front hall and Lizzie exchanged glances with Rigo before she silently volunteered to get it. Neither were expecting visitors, but thankfully Lizzie was already dressed for the day in a corduroy skirt, tights, and a jumper. 

Checking the peephole she could see that the culprit had turned away from the door and was looking about the hall. But the mop of curls was unmistakable.

Unlocking the door she opened to Henry Tudor on his own old doorstep. “Hey!” He looked… energized, all rosy faced and bright eyed, he even seemed a bit out of breath. Almost like he had sprinted there.

“Hello?” Shit, she hadn’t meant it as a question. It sounded so rude on her lips like that.

“Um, hey, I know this is quite strange but — I ran into Anne yesterday on the stairs and she mentioned you had some tickets to Apsley House.”

“I do.” She answered slowly.

“Well, I wonder if I’m too late?” He stuffed his gloves into the pocket of his coat, his brows were tilted in expectation over the wire frames of his glasses.

“Too late to, what, take them off my hands? No, you can have them.” Even if she gave them away, at least they would be put to use. She began turning back to get the envelope containing the tickets from her room.

“No, no.” He remained firmly on the door mat, and she realized he was too polite to step inside without being invited. “Too late to go with you, that is.”

“Oh, um, well.” She’d quite made up her mind not to go, but, seeing as a willing companion had shown up right at her front door who was she to deny him? “We can still make the train with plenty of time. Just let me get my coat and scarf and- and- do come in Henry.” Lizzie beckoned as she turned to sashay down the hall to her bedroom, silly smile and all. Maybe the day wouldn’t be a total waste.

****

The train ride was quiet, uneventful, even. Both had Brough along enough school work to occupy the time. As she scanned her text, Lizzie’s mind wandered annoyingly. Even more annoyingly, the subject of her wandering mind was the one seated opposite her. She’d never known Henry to go on such outings on the weekends. Sure, he’d gone to a party on a Friday night or spent the weekend with his mother, but he never took little day trips.

Then again, she hadn’t really done anything like this last semester either. She couldn’t fathom why he’d been so keen to go see the art collection. Did Henry even like art?

Or was this another instance of him taking pity on her? She thought back to that night in the hallway after Katie’s party. Wasn’t that what he’d said to her, so contemptuously? That he’d let her move into the flat because he had taken pity on her?

Blinking her eyes, Lizzie shook her head almost imperceptibly, and willed herself to concentrate on the words on the text before her, though they kept slipping in and out of focus. She’d forgiven him for that night and had promised herself months ago that she wouldn’t dwell on it any more.

When they got off at the train station, Lizzie was almost surprised to find that Henry had almost no knowledge of how to get about in London. She had to remind herself that although his mother was something of a fixture in the capital city, her former flatmate had spent his childhood in Wales, and the better part of his formative years in France.

“I’ve heard it’s a fine collection.” Henry said sociably, if a bit stiffly, as he hailed them a black cab. “I’m particularly interested to see the statues and the portraits.”

Lizzie adjusted the step of her leather tote bag on her shoulder. “I’ve never been before, so I can’t speak to the collection, but my mum told me it’s quite nice to walk about.”

Together they climbed into the back of the cab, which Henry paid for without soliciting her agreement, which she wasn’t sure she would have given if he had. Maybe it was all for the best.

The home and collection were, indeed, superb, which Lizzie reckoned justified the cost of admittance as well as the train tickets. It was a quiet, refined house which housed the treasures, and was ornate and dignified in its own right. Consequently, both students lapsed into a rapturous solemnity only punctuated by sotto voce asides.

“Look at the brushwork, so delicate.”

“The expression is so life like.”

“The fabric looks so real.”

It seemed Henry had as much of an eye for it as Lizzie, though he also lamentably lacked the aptitude to execute his own masterpieces. They were enjoying the art immensely, until Henry, with a smug grin, ushered them to yet another portrait. A middle aged woman, framed in a 2/3s view, seated. A delicate bonnet was secured over graying ringlets, above close set, oversized brown eyes and a bulbous red nose. Her mouth hung slightly open rather unappealingly over her double chins, which gave way to narrow, sagging shoulders.

“Such a beauty.” He whispered reverently. “It seems I am a few hundred years too late, though.”

“Perhaps,” Lizzie said through smiling lips, “perhaps she has living descendants who have preserved her genetic superiority. She may have a great-great-great-great-grandaughter living somewhere out there.”

“Yes.” Henry’s face was impassive, save that glimmer in his eyes, which gave him away. “But how am I to establish contact with such a sublime creature?”

At last Lizzie let a giggle slip out, which earned them a sharp shushing from a guard.

Instinctively they moved together into the next room of the art collection, which had rather less visitors in it.

In a bit of a punch drunk state, Lizzie merely pointed to a painting on one of the walls, as she stifled a laugh.

A lion pouncing on a horse, its jaws closing round the creature’s buttocks as the razor-sharp claws of its paws ripped into its prey’s haunches. Upon the assaulted animal sat a most dignified and astounded gentleman, looking back over his mount’s hindquarters at the assailant with a hand firmly on the brim of his top hat.

Henry chuckled even as he attempted to quiet his companion. “Lizzie, oh my gosh, you’re going to get us kicked out!” He whispered between smirking lips.

Then he spotted a portrait of a bare chested fellow with a pronounced unibrow and they were forced to shuffled on to the next room before they could catch their breath and get out their laughs.

The room was all theirs, and there didn’t seem to be any guards nearby. All the art housed in this particular room seemed to be neoclassical, or at least the polytheistic allegory and hyper realistic style seemed to suggest so. In a snug alcove just off the room Lizzie spied a marble statue of a nude woman, “Ceres” she discovered when she had moved close enough to read the plaque. 

Henry read the posted blurb from over her shoulder. “I dare you to touch it.” He said, his voice low. She spun on him, that was really upping the ante.

“We’re not supposed to-“

“Oh, I know. That’s why it’s a dare.”

She set her lips firmly into a taut line. “It’s a basic museum rule.”

“If you get caught, I’ll take the blame. Come on, can’t you take a dare?”

Her fingers, if she was being honest, did fairly tingle now with the desire to touch the sculpture — to break the rules. It was innocuous enough, really. It wasn’t like she’d break it or harm it.

Casually she stepped to the pedestal, as if to get a closer look. Her heart was thumping wildly in her own ears and she was aware of a heat spreading from her center to the cheeks, her hands — a buzzing in her ears, but not really in her ears, she knew. Psychosomatic, perhaps.

Was her hand really reaching out? When had she told it to do that? And her fingers were just brushing Ceres’ cool marble foot, grazing her sole.

“There.” Lizzie breathed, retracting her hand and looking squarely at Henry.

“Oh you barely even…”. His sentence trailed off as he smirked and gestured to the immortal woman, his meaning plain.

“Alright, show me how it’s done then, Tudor.” She stepped back from the sculpture.

“Fine.”

“I dare you to touch it.”

He stepped past her nonchalantly. “No problem.”

Lizzie was thinking that he really was too cocky. “I dare you to touch its bum.”

“Its bum?” He asked, disbelievingly. “Oh come on now, Lizzie, don’t be childish.”

She merely raised her eyebrows in an expression of challenge. Foot steps could be heard in the room just beyond the alcove. “Can’t take a dare, Tudor? I’d get a move on if I were you.”

Deftly he maneuvered around the pedestal and reached up a hand, and for a moment Lizzie thought he’d pull away, he hesitated for a double heartbeat, but then he was grabbing a full stone cheek in his large palm.

Now she couldn’t help it, really. All at once a hearty laugh burst forth. Henry moved away as if the cheek had bitten him, recoiling.

A guard shadowed the archway into the alcove. The same guard. They’d been caught, Lizzie realized. Would the staff just escort them out, or would they be blacklisted for life, she wondered. She hoped it was the former, because she did quite like the museum and had a mind to return some day.

“Strike two, you both. If you can’t keep it down I’ll be forced to show you out.” The guard hissed sharply, eyeing them both with a serious stare. So, he hadn’t caught them after all, well, not entirely anyway.

“I apologize, sir.” Henry said immediately, plaintively. “She has the giggles, and I really shouldn’t encourage her.” Beyond the serious façade, Lizzie could still discern that mischievous glint in his grey eyes.

“No, you really shouldn’t.” The guard bleakly observed before moving on.

They finished out their self guided tour without incident. Taking in the art and the home with a bit less laughing, but just as much whispered chatter. Henry did seem to appreciate art, and even knew a thing or two about various artists and styles, much the same as Lizzie.

She’d woken up that morning thinking that the day would be a total write off, but it hadn’t been at all. An escape to the city with a companion was just what she needed. Even if it wasn’t her boyfriend.

The sun was just beginning to set as they exited the home and walked out to the sidewalk. “You fancy a bite to eat?” Henry asked as he strolled along beside her.

Lizzie thought back to the the cup of tea and plate of buttered toast she had abandoned on the kitchen table that morning in her haste to catch the train. She was really quite famished, she realized all at once. “Actually, yes.” 

“Where should we go? You’re a Londoner, you know the area.”

She led them in the general direction of the Mayfair area. “Well, dad used to take us all out to eat in this neighborhood, when I was younger, and there are a lot of expensive restaurants.” They navigated down Picadilly, hemmed in on one side by ornate historic buildings and by the hedge of Green Park on the other. “But sometimes dad would take us to this old pub, and it was so… I don’t know just so nostalgic.”

“Let’s go there, then.” Henry suggested, “If you still know the way.”

They turned off on a skinny lane, lined with the tall buildings that afforded little room for a single car to pass while people walked along. The brightly painted store fronts spilled out onto the sidewalk, and the aromas from the various restaurants filled the air. People bustled along, ducking in and out of shops along both sides of the old street.

“There.” She pointed to a black lacquered storefront, with old fashioned gas lamps hung above the gold lettering that sprawled across the building. “The King’s Arms”.

They darted inside and were able to find a table upstairs together. As they supped on their respective roast dinners and shared a pint, Lizzie reflected on how glad she was to count Henry among her friends these days. There had been a time when they’d annoyed one another and argued so often that she’d thought about cutting him out of her life entirely. After he’d moved out she thought she was so mad at him that the rift would be irreparable. He’d left her in such a bind and with a flimsy explanation that barely stood up to even the gentlest scrutiny.

But at Rigo’s request she’d done her best to accept him back into her life. To move on and try to have a healthy friendship. Rigo had assured her that Henry didn’t extend his friendship or trust lightly and at the time she had shot back that Henry had never given her a shred of either.

But some introspection had revealed that she hadn’t exactly shown him friendship or trust either. And so, she had made a conscious effort to be nice. To try being friends.

Henry was a perfect gent and sneakily paid for their meal while she was in the loo, to spare her the inevitable squabble they would otherwise have had over the bill, much to her chagrin. 

After a lazy train ride back filled with anecdotes, silly stories, and embarrassing childhood tales which they recounted to each other, Henry walked her back to hers.

“Did I ever tell you how I got out of being deported from France?” He smiled mysteriously and adjusted the wire frames of his glasses.

“No. Not that I can see mild mannered little Henry Tudor getting deported.”

“We nearly got deported from that museum this afternoon!” He said with disbelief as they wended their way through the darkened and deserted streets. “No, I was in school in France and, well, I lost my passport or visa or something. Anyway, I wasn’t there legally any longer. And I was being escorted to the airport by these officials and I remember thinking I was scared of missing class and I was scared of interfering with mum’s job, because, you know, she would have to come and claim me. I knew I had to get out of it somehow.”

“Scared of missing class?” Lizzie tittered, “So you’ve always been a nerd.”

“Oh, absolutely. The staunchest nerd.” He was all feigned seriousness, touching his chest just above his heart, as if the nerd life was so very dear to him. “Anyhow, I hatched the perfect plan. Well, not really, it was sort of a shit plan… but it worked, and that’s the important part. I got myself miserably sick on purpose. And all the officials were just too scared to move me while I was so sick, especially after I told them who my mum was. So, then I was able to phone my Uncle Jasper and he got the papers all straightened out and by the time I was feeling better there was no longer a reason to deport me.”

“I don’t know.” Lizzie tightened her scarf and fluffed it up about her cheeks. “That sounds like a tall tale to me.”

“I swear to you, it happened. Anyway, here’s your building.” Henry gestured as they came up the street toward it.

Lizzie slowed her pace and hesitated before asking, “You want to come in for a night cap? A cuppa?”

Henry ran his tongue over his teeth, his breath visibly pluming in the cold night air like a dragon’s. He was considering it, but he seemed uncomfortable, which Lizzie couldn’t account for. “I really shouldn’t. I have to get back.”

“Alright, well,” She swayed towards the door to the building, “Just thought you’d need something to fortify you for your walk home on this cold evening.”

He followed her up to the building and Lizzie’s confidence wavered for a moment. He had declined her offer and yet… he was still coming up to the door with her.


	9. Chapter 9

As they closed in on the top step leading into her building Lizzie stopped, and he shuffled his feet behind her. There was a moment, a definite moment, building. She looked up at him, the stars in her eye and the moon on her cheek, her mouth parted in an unasked question. Kissably adorable, she gazed up at him, blond locks dancing in the breeze, a flush blossoming across her wind-nipped cheeks and the bridge of her nose. It made him falter, made his stomach drop within him. He could almost feel the soft, porcelain white skin at the nape of her neck in his hand,. He could almost feel her stationary body brace against him, hearts pounding in an imperfect echo of one another. He could almost taste her warm mouth on his, traces of her vanilla lip balm transferring to his own lips. 

Almost.

And then it came rushing to him. All the practical reasons that kept holding him back. She had a boyfriend, still; he didn’t want to ruin their friendship; that drunken kiss he’d forced on her the semester prior. He took a deep, stilling breath, and took a step back. Disappointment registered in her eyes, he imagined, but only for a split second before she blinked it away.

“I had fun with you today. See you around soon.” He waved awkwardly, and she slotted her key into the lock.

“See you soon.” She promised, and Henry turned back to the road leading home, checking over his shoulder as she let herself into the building.

Henry hunched his shoulders against the cold wind and stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and plodded back in the direction of his own flat. He didn’t trust himself around Lizzie York. He didn’t trust Lizzie much either, the way she’d looked up at him, so expectant and lovely and entirely too open, readable, vulnerable. But more than anything, he didn’t trust himself. He’d become intoxicated by her exuberant predisposition and had allowed himself to enjoy his day with her more than he should have. Anyone would have supposed they were on a date, that they were a couple. And they weren’t.

But neither did he trust Charles around her. Certainly not. But that matter was out of his hands, not that it had ever been in his hands, it simply wasn’t any of his business. Or at least that was what he and Lizzie had agreed.

Blessedly Henry was able to make it into his building, up the stairs, and into his studio flat without encountering either Rich or Anne, both of whom knew he had been out with Lizzie that day. Anne had really pushed him to go, and he was sure she was just as eager to grill him on how the day had progressed. What had ever possessed her to try and make a match out of a taken woman and a taciturn young man?

Shutting the heavy door behind him, Henry slipped out of his coat and hung it on a peg behind the door. He automatically set the coffee pot to brew and crossed to his desk, a beat up old wooden table laden with papers, and books, and a scattering of writing implements. He sat on the white cafe chair and removed his glasses, casting them into the chaos of texts and loose notebook papers, before he noticed the red blinking light on his answering machine. Henry pressed play and propping his elbows on the desktop massaged his closed eyes and the bridge of his nose with the pads of his fingers.

“Hello dear, it’s mum.” Her neat accent clipped over the recording. “Just checking in to make sure you’re well. Hope you’re eating well and staying bundled up. I got a call from Jasper this morning, he said he was able to give you a wonderful recommendation, even though I don’t think nepotism is the best course of action. At any rate, if you need me I’ll be at home tonight so you can call me there. I’d love to hear your voice. Lots of love dear! Bye bye.”

BEEEEEP.

“Hello this message is for Mr. Henry Tudor. Mr. Tudor this is John de Vere of the de Vere Law Group.”

Henry’s head snapped up, his lips parting over his small, coffee stained teeth in a gasp as he gestured to the answering machine in disbelief. 

“I am in receipt of your CV, as well as recommendations from my partners Mr. Jasper Tudor and Mr. Henry Percy. We are interested in setting up a phone interview with you, as we realize that you aren’t local. Please give our office a call back and my assistant Jean will be able to help you with scheduling. We look forward to hearing from you.”

BEEEEEP.

Henry scribbled down the office’s number on a post it note and searched frantically for a place on his desk where the sticky wouldn’t get immediately swallowed by his work. Eventually he settled for sticking the note to the frame of the window over his desk. This was just the opportunity he had hoped for. Of course it didn’t hurt that he was well connected either.

****

“You haven’t come by in a while.” Rigo twirled a noodle about the tines of his fork, his eyes intent on the motion.

Henry stilled and watched the winding of the noodle as well. “Yeah, I’ve been a bit… snowed under, so to speak.” 

“Snowed under?” His friend neatly popped the forkful into his mouth. “School?”

“Yeah and I have an interview coming up. I’m sort of on pins and needles about getting this internship.”

Rigo cocked a funny smile at Henry. “It’s only March.”

“What do you mean ‘only March’? That only gives us two months until summer. Besides,” He poked at some sushi he wasn’t sure about, he wished he’d gone for something less outside of his comfort zone, “I really want this internship.”

“Well, I’ve had my summer work sorted since Christmas.” Rigo said almost offhandedly, catching Henry off guard.

“You what?” He glimpsed over Rigo’s shoulder as the door to the restaurant swung open, permitting a bite of chilled air to sweep into the dining area. If Rigo explained his answer Henry didn’t hear him, so diverted was he by what he’d seen.

Katie Gordon had swept in, all dark, glossy hair and meters long legs under the high hem of her berry colored dress. Behind her a step or two came a familiar athletic figure with neat golden hair, a square jaw, and the upturned nose that leant him an air of arrogance. Richard Perkin’s lips crooked into a smile as his hand caught at hers. She angled her body toward him as they surveyed the dining area looking for an available table.

Henry was just trying to work out a way to make sure Rigo didn’t see them when Katie spotted them and began wending her way past the other diners in their direction. He wished he could wave them away, or smuggle Rigo out, or something. Rigo had said he was over her, but Henry didn’t think he was over Katie enough to see her out to dinner with another guy so soon.

As much as he wanted to protect his friend from the unpleasantness of seeing Katie on a date with Richard, there was no avoiding it when she bounded right up to their table. “Hey Rigo.” She smiled brilliantly. “Henry Tudor,” she added nodding in his direction, a note of playfulness detectable.

“Hey Katie, Richard.” Henry greeted them while Rigo finished slurping up a noodle. 

“Fancy seeing you here. Didn’t peg you as a sushi man.”

“I’m… yeah, I’m not.” Henry gestured to his plate of barely touched ‘food’, if one could call it that. “Anyway, it’s good to see you guys. Haven’t seen either of you in ages.”

Richard smirked, “Come on now, Tudor, we have loads of classes together.” 

“Oh, but you always make a bee line for the door once the prof dismisses us. We’ve hardly said two words together in passing all semester. I was beginning to think I’d offended you.” At this Henry managed a smile, though it was one of his sly smiles, the kind that made the recipient uneasy. If either of them should be offended, it ought to have been Henry, after the stunt Richard had pulled at the end of last semester. 

“No, no. I’ve just been, you know…. And how are you, Rigo?”

The Spaniard’s lips twitched into a makeshift grin. “Can’t complain. I’ve landed a position as an intern in a lab at Compultense University of Madrid for the summer.” His eyes slipped from Richard to Katie, gauging her reaction to the news he was clearly so proud of.

“Well, good for you.” Her congratulations were hastily given, but not eagerly. Hand already snaking around Richard’s forearm she begged them both off. “We’re simply starving, so we’re going to find a table, but it was nice running into you both.”

“Don’t be strangers.” Henry was all irony, waving them off equably before his attention returned to Rigo who shrugged and carried on slurping his noodles. “Was that weird or….?”

His friend shrugged, “Not for me.”

****

Sunlight slanted through the tall windows with the languid rise of the sun over the sand colored angles of the old buildings cramped together. Henry stood before his desk, his cordless phone in one hand, and the post-it note with the de Vere Law Group’s number scratched onto it in his tall, sharp hand.

Palms slick, he punched the digits in sequence and cradled the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he stuck the note back onto the window frame above his desk. As the line rang he paced to the sofa and sank into his favorite spot at one end, taking up a pad and a pen in case note taking should be required.

“Hello, the de Vere Law Group, this is Gloria how can I help you?” A chipper woman greeted.

“Hello Gloria, this is Henry Tudor calling for Jean, Mr. De Vere’s assistant.” Henry noted the receptionist’s name in the top corner of his pad.

“Just a moment while I put you on hold, Mr. Tudor.”

Smooth jazz crackled over the line, imperfect. Henry jotted the date and time on his pad then scrawled in larger letters across the top of the page “de Vere Law Group”, striking a line under the words.

“Hello, this is Jean.” The dulcet, even pitched voice of a young woman rang clearly in his ear.

“Hello, Jean. Henry Tudor. Mr. De Vere called me yesterday instructing me to schedule an interview.” He stared placidly at the black void of the powerless television tube.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Tudor. Actually, can you hold for just a moment?” 

“Sure.”

The jazz returned momentarily before a new voice assumed the line. “Henry Tudor?” It was deeper, decidedly masculine. “John de Vere. Jean just told me you were on the phone, and well, I have a free moment now if you do.”

He hated being taken by surprise, but he didn’t want Mr. de Vere getting the idea that he was unable to think on his feet or roll with the punches. His uncle Jasper had taught him to never pass up a good opportunity, even if it wasn’t exactly convenient. “I sure do.” He amended the title of his notes, “de Vere Law Group - Interview”. 

xxxx

Henry tapped his fingers impatiently against the wood surface of his desk as he studied the columns of numbers. Why wouldn’t they balance? He’d been working on accounting and tax assignments all night long on a chilly and quiet Wednesday night. The numbers on his digital Casio calculator watch were nearing 11pm and the streets outside his window were deserted.

All at once his buzzer was screaming shrilly, repeatedly. Nearly jumping out of his skin, Henry popped up from his chair and flew for the little phone attached to the wall beside the door into his flat. “Hello?” He asked into the receiver. Who could be demanding entry at this hour? He wasn’t expecting anyone. It must be a drunk call intended for some other unit in the building, he reasoned.

The caller was drunk, yes, but it wasn’t intended for any other resident.

“Henry?” The voice slurred uncertainly.

“Yes?”

“Oh, thank God, I wasn’t entirely sure of your…. Number.” Her voice was pitched higher than usual. “I know this isn’t cool, but… can I come up?”

“Is this,” he hesitated, “Lizzie?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Can you please let me up. A- actually, ummm…” There were some ruffling sounds, “Actually can you come help me up?” Her tone had dipped and softened, belying a modicum of embarrassment.

He couldn’t fathom what she was doing in this neighborhood at this hour on a Wednesday night when she lived clear across town. As he shuffled down the stairs to the entry hall, Henry peeked through the glass of the front door. Was she still out there? He didn’t see her.

Upon pushing open the front door his eyes alighted on Lizzie, seated on the top step of the stoop, just below the buzzer. Her black peacoat was unbuttoned to reveal her silk and lace scarlet dress underneath, the color was startling against her porcelain complexion and fair hair. Just then she was occupied unclasping the ankle straps of her tan high heels. She didn’t seem to have a hat, scarf, or gloves and Henry wondered at how cold she must be.

“Lizzie?”

Tilting her chin lazily in his direction, her brown eyes glassy and puffy, she wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand. “Hey, where’d you come from?” Her tone was pert, almost gleeful. Did she think he wouldn’t be able to tell she’d almost certainly been crying.

It was jarring, disarming almost, to find the normally composed and self-possessed Elizabeth York crumpled on his doorstep like a rejected love letter. 

“Upstairs. Come on, let’s get you inside.” He snatched up her shoes before giving her a hand to her feet. She leaned against him automatically. This was going to take a lot more effort on his part, he realized as he mounted the stairs with her.

He considered calling her a cab, but didn’t feel comfortable sending her home alone in such a state. Besides, she’d probably be passed out by the time a cab did show up.

“Here.” He steered her inside the door to his place and into the loo. “Let’s get you a wet wash cloth. Can you wash your face while I,” he propped her up against the sink and handed her a wash cloth, “while I get you something to wear?”

When Henry returned to the restroom he found Lizzie groggily wiping at her eyes with the cloth. “Here, change into these and I’ll be back to get you in a few minutes.” He handed her a stack of meticulously folded clothes and tracked to the kitchenette. Popping the kettle on and shoving some bread into the toaster Henry surveyed his flat for any possible messes that needed cleaning up.

As per usual the studio flat was spotless, everything was in it’s place, with the exception of his habitually untidy desk space. That area in particular was a lost cause, but otherwise the place was neat as a pin. Henry couldn’t stand clutter or disorganization.

There was a noise in the loo and he found Lizzie sat atop the toilet lid in his Radiohead tee, gym shorts and tube socks, lank gold hair spilling over her narrow shoulders. On the tile floor her silk and lace red dress was pooled atop her discarded black wool coat, and her earrings had been placed on the counter beside the sink. 

Wordlessly Henry helped her into the main room of the flat and sat her on the sofa with a cup of tea and a plate of buttered toast.

“You haven’t asked me.” She licked toast crumbs from her fingers, an action sober Lizzie would have deplored.

Settling in beside her, Henry grabbed the remote control off of the footlocker that served as a coffee table. “Asked you what?” He asked as he flicked on the TV and instantly lowered the volume to something they could comfortably talk over.

“Why I’m here. Why I’m… such a fucking… mess.” She tore the crust off of her toast slowly and deliberately, concentrating on the task like it was open heart surgery.

Henry watched her closely. “The question had occurred to me.”

“So, I am a mess?”

“No, no.” He tried not to laugh, since she was obviously quite distressed. “I did wonder what you were doing on my front step at this hour in a nice dress… by your self.”

Lizzie set the plate on the sofa cushion between them, her toast half eaten and half picked apart. She grabbed at her cup of tea held the steaming rim against her lips for a moment, her eyes partially closed, enjoying the sensation of the warm wisps of steam washing over her face. “I feel like you’re teasing me, but I don’t know why.”

He wasn’t, but he didn’t feel the need to defend himself. Nor did he feel the need to prod her to tell her story. Henry had the distinct feeling it wasn’t any of his business — as per usual with Lizzie and the tales of woe in her life. She always wanted to treat him like a friend, but she also always seemed to hold him at arm’s length, never quite letting him into her life.

“Men are the worst.” She declared and took a sip of her tea.

Henry nodded in agreement, because disagreeing simply wouldn’t do, and fixed his eyes on the television. A Friends rerun was on, “The One with the Evil Orthodontist” the TV guide from his side table told him, in the lull left in the wake of Lizzie’s revelation.

“If I tell you,” She said, as the show cut to a commercial break, “you can’t tell anyone else. You also can’t pity me.”

He set the TV guide down on the footlocker and faced her silently, hands folding in his lap.

“So, Charles called me up on Sunday and asked me to Luca’s for dinner tonight. 9pm. Well, Luca’s is nice so, I got all dolled up — new dress, fake eyelashes, manicure, pedicure, you know. Well, no, you don’t know.” She pulled up a leg and hugged her knee to her chest. “Anyway, I get there and Charles is nowhere to be seen. So, I wait a little bit, and I’m getting all these judgy looks because, well, people are thinking ‘this girl has clearly been stood up’. And, like, I don’t need that kind of negativity.”

Lizzie’s eyes were getting glassy again, the rims turning a hue of pink, but she forged on. 

“Anyway, I end up going and sitting up at the bar, because then at least I won’t… I don’t know… maybe I won’t look as pathetic. Besides, I was sure Charles was on his way. He wouldn’t not show up, you know? Anyway, I get a champagne. And then I get a few vodka tonics, or whatever. I drank. I drank too much. And he still hadn’t show up. And it was getting late. Like…”. She sighed and tilted her head back, shaking her hair out and biting at her lip. “After 10, I’m pretty sure.”

“So, he did stand you up?” Henry asked.

Her gaze slowly leveled with his, her lip trembling just a little. “No, if he’d done that maybe I could have forgiven him.” There was a rash of pink splotches climbing up her chest, her neck, behind her ears and onto the planes of her face.

“Oh?” Henry’s skin was just about crawling. Just what had the insufferable Frenchman done to her?

“We’re over, by the way. I couldn’t…. Well- here’s what happened.” She began clumsily wiping at her cheeks and eyes with her fingers as she tried to get back on track with her story. “It’s, like, 10:30 or something and I see Charles come in and talk to the hostess, so I leave the bar. But there’s this woman with Charles, and at first I’m surprised, but then I’m like, ‘no, it’s got to be his sister or something’, I don’t know. God, I’m such a fucking moron.” 

Henry reached for the box of tissues, but Lizzie motioned that she didn’t want any, still prideful in her inebriation and tears. 

“Anyway, I’m like ‘Charles?’ And he turns around and, I swear, Henry, he looked so surprised I think he’d forgot about me and our date entirely. So, I asked where he’d been and who the woman was and…. It was just awful.”

Henry’s face felt hot, hot with his own anger and even some embarrassment for his friend. “I’m so sorry Lizzie. I knew, I should have told you, I tried to tell you that he was cheating on you.”

“Oh, Henry.” She buried her face in her hands. “No, that’s not it. That’s not it at all. It’s… so much worse than that.”

He faltered.

“She’s his fiancée!” Lizzie’s voice cracked and she bit her lip in an effort to control herself, her emotions, her voice, her tears. “I was the other woman.”

Her eyes were filled with such sadness, such depths of hopelessness. “I’ve been such a fucking…” She swiped at her sniffly nose with the back of her hand, “And you warned me all along and I just… didn’t…” Shaking her head, looked toward the ceiling to blink back tears.

The shock was wearing off, and Henry hastily moved the plate between them on the sofa and moved closer to curl her frame safely against his with an arm about her shoulders. “Oh, Lizzie, I’m so sorry you got hurt like this.”

“How could somebody do this?” Her voice was muffled against the crook of his shoulder. 

His fingers gingerly stroked her hair in a rare action of tenderness alien to his aloof demeanor. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” 

“I feel like a right fool.” Her slender shoulders shuddered under the weight of his palm. “You promise you won’t tell anyone about this?” She peeked up, her sleepy eyes dancing to focus on him, her expression sombre, bottom lip still trembling just a touch. 

“I promise, of course I promise.” He punctuated the oath with a rueful twist of his lip. “But look, you really ought to get some sleep.” Disentangling himself from the impetuous embrace with her, Henry stood and gave Lizzie a hand. She staggered when he motioned for her to make her way to the bed, and so he ended up guiding her to the destination with light fingers on either of her shoulders.

“Right, you, get in,” he turned down the covers and watched as she climbed up onto the mattress. 

The idea of bedding down on the sofa with a throw pillow and a thin blanket occurred to Henry, but the endless myriad of numbers beckoned to him. He could sleep later. And so after he’d switched off all the light, Henry turned on the desk lamp that crouched over his work strewn desktop. 

Setting in with his calculator, his text book, and a notebook crammed with his angular hand, Henry set about balancing his last accounting problem to the sound of Lizzie’s even, deep breathing. 

His relationship with Lizzie had always been tenuous at best, positively stormy at worst. And yet she had come here tonight, at her most vulnerable, and almost instantly laid herself bare to him. He’d never trusted anyone implicitly, not even his own mother, though she was the one he trusted the most in world. He’d always sensed the same reservation in Lizzie, but tonight she had proven him wrong in that regard. Even if she needed reassurance, certainly he couldn’t be the best candidate in her life for that, not even if she was drunk. Right?


	10. Chapter 10

There was a faux wood analogue alarm clock confronting Lizzie when her eyes fluttered open. 6:34am. It wasn’t her clock. The nightstand wasn’t her’s, either. Neither were the whitewashed walls interspersed with exposed brick. The sheets felt like a higher thread-count than her own, as well. 

Rubbing her eyes, Lizzie made an effort to roll on to her back, clutching at her temple as she struggled against her heavy head to sit up. She had been drunk very seldom, but enough to know that she was surely experiencing a hangover.

Although bathed in the desaturated light of an early morning spring sun, she recognized the large room as Henry’s flat. Her mind jolted and she painfully swiveled her neck to check the bed beside her. The blankets and sheets there remained undisturbed and distinctly unslept in. 

Why was she here? How had she gotten here? The last thing she truly remembered was swinging her arms into her coat as she swept out of Luca’s and into the blistering cold evening.

Pushing her legs out from under the covers, Lizzie braced herself to stand. Priority number one would be getting a glass of water and some paracetamol. As she shuffled to the kitchenette, multicolored spots floating in her vision, Lizzie spotted Henry’s prone figure slumbering on his side on the sofa, his shoulder rising and falling with his even breaths.

Blessedly, the bottle of paracetamol was in the cupboard along with the glasses, and Lizzie leaned her bum against the work top as she swallowed the tablets and sipped on the water. Now she had the leisure to wonder what exactly she was doing here, waking up in Henry Tudor’s flat.

Luca’s was in the same neighborhood as his building. Had she really walked herself over here last night and rang on his buzzer? If so, what kind of a scene had she made? How exactly had she presented herself? The embarrassing thought caused the color to rise, and blaze, in her cheeks. Without a doubt she had made a complete tit of herself.

No doubt she had told Henry of what had happened at Luca’s. Of Charles’ indiscretion and her own humiliation. Yes, humiliation. That was what she was feeling. Utter and complete humiliation. What must Henry think of her now, after he had warned her against Charles all those times?

She set her glass in the sink, where an empty mug and crumby plate already rested, and wandered toward the seating area. 

Her friend was covered with a thin blanket, his cheek resting on a decorative throw pillow. His arm dangled over the edge of the sofa, an open book just below his fingertips suggested he had fallen asleep reading. Lizzie crouched in front of him and gingerly plucked the wireframe glasses from his face. Yes, he had definitely fallen asleep reading.

Seeing the dark circles that shadowed his under-eyes, Lizzie felt a pang of guilt for disturbing his evening. Had she kept him up late with her shenanigans? Had she woken him in the middle of the night with her arrival? 

Lizzie combed her fingers through her lank golden hair and stood. She’d feel a lot better if she left before he awoke. She wanted to avoid the inevitable awkwardness, she also didn’t feel like confronting whatever judgment he had reserved for sober Lizzie.

Snatching the cordless phone from it’s cradle on Henry’s desk, Lizzie carried it into the toilet and shut the door behind her. In a whisper she ordered herself a cab and set the phone down on the side of the sink.

Her reflection revealed little of her night prior. Her hair, while lusterless and dull, wasn’t too much of a mess. Her face was makeup free and clean. However, her eyes were rather red, her cheeks a little puffy, and her lips chapped. Some things couldn’t be helped. Her gaze traveled down her figure in the mirror. A thin white cotton Radiohead band tee, red and white gym shorts, and red striped tube socks. Studying her feet, Lizzie kicked at the pool of her own clothes on the floor.

She gargled a little of Henry’s mouth wash and used her fingers to arrange her hair into something a shade more presentable, before she splashed some cool water onto her face. Lizzie loathed the very idea of being seen outside Henry’s building this early in the morning, either in these borrowed clothes or her own ensemble of the night before. If she were seen out there it would look like she were participating in some “walk of shame”. Her carefully cultivated reputation, or what was left of it, would be tarnished.

However, there was no avoiding it.

The phone let out only a part of a ring before she picked up the receiver, holding it close to her mouth. “Your cab will be arriving in three minutes.” The dispatcher said. “Thank you for choosing Riverside Cab Company. Goodbye.”

Lizzie shrugged on her coat and stuffed the earrings she had left by the sink into one pocket. The straps of her heels were looped onto her finger before she gathered up the dress and phone. Depositing the phone back in the cradle on the desk, Lizzie spotted Henry’s wallet beside the answering machine. She’d need cash for the cab, and she hadn’t seen her own bag anywhere.

“Oh, fuck me.” She whispered softly, rolling her eyes. Imposing on Henry for an evening was one thing, borrowing money from him was quite another, she knew. Quickly she leafed through the notes in his billfold, noting the interlocked Gs printed on the silk lining. Of course he would have a Gucci wallet.

Plucking a ten pound note from the wallet, Lizzie shoved it into a pocket of her coat and grabbed a pen and stack of post-it notes she found and began scrawling in her loopy handwriting:

_“Henry, thanks for letting me stay. I owe you £10 and a really big favor. — Lizzie”_

Lizzie carried the note to the kitchen and pinned it under a magnet on the narrow refrigerator. Beside it was posted a letter, creased from being folded into an apparently discarded envelope. Glancing toward the sofa, she made sure Henry wasn’t stirring. Sure she wouldn’t be disturbed while invading his privacy, Lizzie let her eyes scan over the letter:

_“Mr. Tudor,_

__

__

“We are glad to extend to you the opportunity to participate in our summer clerkship program. This program is designed to give students the chance to gain experience working in a fast-paced, large, corporate law firm. You will have the chance to work with various lawyers and barristers within the firm, to maximize your exposure to various fields of law.

“The clerkship program shall commence on May 15th at 7am, and shall conclude on August 20th at 5pm. The program shall be comprised of three total students.

“We shall expect a response from you no later than March 28th. If you intend to decline participation in the program for any reason, please be so considerate as to communicate your declination so the firm may extend the opportunity to anther student.

“We look forward to hearing from you.

“Sincerely,

_“John de Vere, Esq._

Lizzie smiled to herself. So, he had found something after all. Her eyes wandered to the shiny embossed green letterhead.

_“The de Vere Law Group, P.C.  
“Cardiff, Swansea, Newport_

Her brain gave a halting answer to her unasked question. “Wales.” She mouthed, as her hand recoiled from where it had been running over the letterhead. Why Wales? Why so far away? London, Sussex, even York had more than enough prestigious law firms for him to choose from. And he could have his choice, she was sure of it. He was Henry Tudor, son of Margaret Beaufort, MP, and a remarkable student. If he couldn’t get what he wanted on his merits alone, he could surely get it through his family connections.

Unless this was what he wanted. But she couldn’t fathom why that would be the case. Going to Wales for a family Christmas was one thing, spending a whole summer there seemed sheer madness to her.

She returned to the desk and window, from which vantage point she would be able to see the cab pull up on the street below. Holding out her dress at arms’ length Lizzie briefly considered it. She had bought it a week ago, after Melody had declared on a shopping trip that it would look just perfect on Lizzie. She’d tried it on in the store and had discovered her cousin was right. The color had complemented her complexion, and the fabric had clung and hung in all the right places. In short, she felt simply sexy in the thing. 

It was the perfect thing to wear on a fancy dinner date with her boyfriend — or, the guy she was dating who defied labels. She was hoping that’d be the night they became an official couple, she even dared to hope he’d say those three special words.

She’d been far too naive. 

There was the muffled honking of a car horn downstairs and as Lizzie balled up the fabric of the dress in her fists she glimpsed her awaited cab outside the building. 

As Lizzie briskly strode to the door she lifted the lid of the rubbish bin and flung the mass of red lace and silk atop the garbage.

****

“What are you doing Friday night?” Rigo asked over a bowl of porridge on Thursday morning as he, Lizzie, and Melody sat at the kitchen table.

Lizzie, perched on her chair, knees to her chest, and cup of tea to her lips, shrugged noncommittally. “Nothing, so far as I know.”

“Nothing?” Melody echoed, eyebrows wrinkling. 

“Well, I mean,” Lizzie pressed her eyes closed for a moment before continuing, “I have my internship application letters to work on, so….”

“Where are you applying to?”

“Mostly non-profits and lobbying groups. I’d like to use my PR degree for something worthwhile, and I’m hoping an internship could lead to a job with the same company after I graduate.”

“You should talk with Henry’s mum about that type of thing.” Rigo said. “She works with lots of companies like those and she may have some connections.”

Lizzie licked her lips and opened her mouth to protest. Henry, and even his mum, were the last people on earth she was willing to prevail upon at the moment. She shut her mouth, thinking the better of it, after all Rigo didn’t need to know about that. “Yeah, maybe.” She said simply.

After they had cleaned up breakfast, and Rigo and Melody had left for classes, Lizzie brought her study materials into the lounge and camped out on the sofa. She had loads of revising to do before she could get to her application letters the next night.

It was around three in the afternoon when she heard the knocking on the door, not that she was expecting anyone. Picking her way through the mess of papers, texts, and notebooks she had surrounded herself with, Lizzie shuffled to the door in her slippers and dressing gown. 

“Who’s there?” She called.

“Guess who!” The response came back in a sing song that only mildly irritated Lizzie.

Inching the door open she found Anne on her doorstep, her tan trench coat beaded with raindrops on the shoulders and sleeves. “Ta da!” Anne made a gesture like an model assistant on a game show displaying a prize.

‘Hey, you,” Lizzie opened the door wider and took a step back, inviting her friend in. “Here, let me get your coat,” she offered.

When the coat was hung up by the door on a peg, and Lizzie had cleared a spot on the sofa for Anne, the two girls sat down. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I haven’t heard from you in a few days and I keep getting your answering machine.”

At first Lizzie thought Henry had sent Anne here to console her, but Anne didn’t let on that she knew anything about what her friend had been through recently.

“Are you doing ok? Aside from being in study overdrive.” Anne smirked and gestured to the revision supplies that surrounded them. The fact that she had popped by when she couldn’t reach Lizzie on the phone, only served to endear her friend to her as a confidante. 

“Honestly. I’ve been better.” Lizzie tucked her feet under herself. “Charles and I… broke up and… I’ve just been laying low, I guess.” It felt cathartic to admit it to a friend, more so than she had expected.

“Aww,” Anne reached out and stroked Lizzie’s arm gently. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“I’ve been keeping it to myself mostly, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone.” 

“Well, I tell Rich everything, but we won’t repeat it. It’s not our news to share.” She promised. “Now, please tell me, you’ve been eating right and getting your sleep?” Anne’s gaze was direct.

“Well,” Lizzie inclined her head to acknowledge a build up of mugs and water glasses on the side table.

Anne pursed her lips and lifted her fingers to Lizzie’s hair, “Hmmmm, and you could use a good wash too. And we have to change you out of these pajamas.” She stood, letting her hand fall into Lizzie’s, “I get that you need to process things, but I won’t let you wallow.”

It was rare to find a friend so frank, so sympathetic yet unflinchingly honest. “Come on, let’s run you a bath and get some food in you.” Anne was already making for the hall, and dumbly Lizzie followed.

It did feel good, washing up in the tub and wolfing down an egg salad sandwich (she didn’t even realize she was hungry until the food was set before her). Anne had even laid out an outfit for Lizzie in her bedroom.

“Now what?” Lizzie asked, rubbing some balm on her lips as she regarded herself in the mirror, in a pair of light wash high waited jeans and a striped, ribbed top; “real clothes.”

“Now you pack your bag and come with me to study in the library.” Anne said, seated on the foot of the bed behind Lizzie in the mirror’s reflection, “Join the land of the living.”

“Are you sure?” Lizzie met her friend’s eyes in the mirror.

“Oh yeah.” Anne said confidently. “Getting out of this flat is going to be the best thing for you.”

It seemed amazing to Lizzie, this newly acquired friend should be so concerned for her, so willing to jump into the fray and take charge. Anne could come off as meddlesome from time to time, but Lizzie had to recognize that if she meddled it was only because she formed such deep and caring attachments to some people.

****

Rain slapped heavily against the tall window above Lizzie’s desk, running off the glass in swollen streams. Beyond, water gushed along the lines of the curbs to flow into open maws of the gutters. Lizzie considered the rain which darted silver through the glow of the street lamps, as the wind fairly howled down the canyon formed by the buildings that bordered the road.

It wasn’t often that Lizzie chose to spend her waking hours in this room, this glorified broom closet. Not only was it cramped, but even after nearly fourth months it was still “Henry’s room”, oddly enough.

Her fingers were poised over the keys of her compact typewriter, her eyes scanning the form letter she had been using for all her applications as well as the handwritten listing of companies she was applying to which she had meticulously copied into her notebook. A slim box of resume paper rested to the left of her machine, she’d learned from her father the importance of using the correct paper grade.

It was only 6pm, but she had been at this for hours already. 

She wondered how many potential employers had noted her famous name at the bottom of her letters or at the heads of her resumes and had snickered to themselves as they sent her papers through the shredder. Her father had been well liked enough during his life, but since his death she’d had the distinct impression the world at large had turned its back on the Yorks.

But the name couldn’t be a total curse. Her mother had recently phoned Lizzie, positively bursting with good news and pride. Mum had landed a job on the staff of a Catholic school. As if that weren’t enough to send her into good spirits, the job included the perk of complementary schooling for the employee’s children. “Imagine that, Lizzie! All your sisters will get a top notch education. This means so, so much, all I ever wanted was to provide you girls with the best.”

Yes, mum had hit on a stroke of good luck. Lizzie could only hope that she would be so lucky.

There was a light tapping on her door, just then, barely audible over the wild weather outside her window. “Come in.” She called.

A curly head poked in just between the door jam and the paneled door. “I hope I’m not interrupting. Rigo said you were hard at work.”

“Well I was,” Lizzie turned away from her typewriter to face him, and offered a rueful smile, “but you just caught me day dreaming for a spell.” She waved him in, “Come on in, Henry, are they still talking about intestinal disorders out there?” Lizzie referred to the medical student’s study group which was meeting in their lounge at the moment.

“Yeah, something was being said about excessive flatulence as I passed through, but I didn’t stick around to figure out what, exactly.”

Lizzie giggled. “Friday nights are rather wild here, these days.” 

His smile was kind, but he still stood just inside the doorway, all awkward angles and an unsettled air. 

She stood, matching his body language. “Henry, I’m really sorry about the other night. I can’t even begin to imagine how…. Ridiculous and stupid I was, or what you had to put up with, I’m really—“

“Please, don’t be sorry.” Henry interrupted her uncharacteristically. “You just came in and had some tea and toast, told me what happened, and then went to bed. It wasn’t anything.”

“But, I was so pissed, Henry. I don’t even remember…”

“Hey, if I couldn’t help you out when you were in that kind of a state, what kind of friend would I be, eh?”

She nodded slowly as she bit her lip, then changed subjects. “You’re positively drenched, what, did you walk here?” Lizzie motioned for him to take off his rain soaked green windbreaker and hung it on the back of her bedroom door. “Let’s make you some coffee, warm you up.”

“You go on, I’ll…” He sat atop her duvet dotted with tiny poppies, “just sit for a minute.”

In the kitchen Lizzie located her brand new French press and carefully opened the accompanying bag of coffee. She wasn’t exactly sure why Henry was there. Surely he hadn’t come round to solicit her in-person apology, only to insist none was needed. Or was he here for the £10? He could be cheap, but he wasn’t classless. Or perhaps it was the clothes that he had leant her that brought him round. She thought of the freshly laundered tee, shorts, and socks carefully folded atop her dresser. Lizzie had been meaning to return them to him, but couldn’t quite bring herself to his building, much less his door.

And she couldn’t ascribe all her hesitancy and nerves to her embarrassment about that night. The letter she shouldn’t have read had raised questions of their own, and she didn’t know how to ask them of him.

When she returned to the room with his coffee and her tea, Lizzie was struck by how very cozy the room was with them both in it. In the warm glow of her desk lap, the spare furniture around the room left very little space for two people. With him on the bed, the only proper place for her to sit was on the desk chair.

Taking a careful sip of her tea, so as not to burn her tongue, Lizzie gestured to the dresser. “I have your clothes for you. I promise I cleaned them.”

“Oh…” Henry stood suddenly, his coffee nearly sloshing out of the mug, “and I…” His long arm reached to shut the door and Lizzie frowned in confusion.

There, hung on the back of the door, over his jacket, was her red dress, a dry cleaner’s plastic slip slick with rain and bunched up about the shoulders of the hanger.

“I, uh, found it in the bin. Don’t know what you were thinking, but… I got it cleaned and um” Henry made a sweeping gesture, indicating the dress generally, “yeah.”

That dress. That fucking dress, and the memories… “Oh, you didn’t have to do all that.”

“I thought you’d want to wear it again. It’s quite, err, it’s quite a nice dress; the colors and lace and…. Whatnot.”

She didn’t want to keep it. Couldn’t he understand that? What girl, no matter how drunk, would accidentally throw out a dress? “I must not have liked it.” She said lamely.

“Oh, but I thought it looked so lovely on you.” He protested. When he realized what he’d said Henry lowered his eyes and Lizzie thought she could detect the trace of a blush coloring the sharp angles of his face.


	11. Chapter 11

And there it was, out loud, hung in the air between them, drenched in the patchouli scented candle Lizzie was burning on her bedside table. The compliment. No, Henry knew it was more than just a compliment. It was a verbalization of the subconscious he had been trying so hard to repress. 

And it wasn’t fair to Lizzie. She had just broken up with Charles. She would think he’d seen the window of opportunity on the backend of the break up and would think that he was trying to take advantage of her vulnerability.

Instinct told him to clear the air, to talk over what he’d said, bury the sentiment. But instinct wasn’t always right, instinct could lead Henry astray. With Henry his instinct either saved his skin, or was a slave to his ill fated and hot blooded impulses. So, Henry sipped his coffee, cleared his throat, and sighed.

“I’m sorry, I meant objectively it’s a flattering color for you. I didn’t mean to imply…” He looked up to meet Lizzie’s eyes, just as she looked up from under the sweep of her long dark lashes.

“It’s ok. I’ve always been told red’s my color.” She was too kind, smoothing over his gaff for him. Writing off his embarrassment, as it were. Even when he had followed up his compliment with a platonic qualifier.

Lizzie stood and collected the dress from where it hung on the back of the door. “Thanks for brining it back.” She said quietly as she brought it to her wardrobe and sorted it toward the back of the hanging garments.

“Anyway,” her voice came as something close to a mumble as she shuffled some things about in her wardrobe, half turned away from him. “What’s new with you?”

“Not too much.” He ran a finger over a droplet of coffee that had dribbled down the side of his mug. “Just courses, revision, and - ah, well, and I’ve been offered an internship.”

The stirrings in the wardrobe stilled for a moment. Then, “Oh?”

“Yeah, a clerkship with a law firm, actually.” 

“That’s great news. Are you going to take it?”

He was fairly certain she was no longer sorting through her clothes, but still Lizzie didn’t turn toward him. 

“Maybe, I’m considering it. It’s quite a good offer.”

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” She closed one door of the wardrobe, he watched her shoulder blade move under the fabric of her shirt, “I thought this was just the sort of work you were looking for this summer?”

“It was - it is.” 

The other door closed and Lizzie pivoted to face him. “So, why are you hesitating?”

“It’s just… It’s in Wales. I’d have to go live in Cardiff for the summer.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

When Henry met her gaze, he found her expression was one of controlled inquiry. She was politely interested, but there was something else beneath the surface. He felt, vaguely, that he knew precisely what it was that buzzed just under her layer of restraint and conditioning. The way her slim fingers twitched at the hem of her navy blue corduroy pinafore, the way her neck strained above the peter-pan collar of her shirt, the way her brown eyes flitted over his features searchingly. Sometimes he felt it, too. Like a taut bow, arrow drawn.

He was feeling it, to some degree, right now. “No, no. Nothing wrong with Wales. I just… have trouble imagining spending a whole summer there, that’s all.”

“Hmm.” Lizzie resumed her spot in her desk chair, facing him.

“And how are you?” He wanted to know how she was coping with the breakup, with the bombshell discovery that she hadn’t been Charles’ girlfriend. Ever. But he couldn’t ask her, not directly. Even though they were friends, and friends normally talked about things like this, there was too much animosity between Charles and him for it to be a suitable topic of discussion.

Lizzie lifted her mug to her lips. “Just fine.” She said over the rim. “Or, I will be after I’ve sorted out my own summer situation.”

Henry had already taken in her typewriter and the stationary scattered over her desk. She’d had a hard time securing a placement, but Henry was confident she’d have favorable news soon. “Are you trying to stay here for the summer, or are you wanting to get back to London?”

“I don’t have the luxury of preference.” She smiled benignly. “It seems neither of us do.”

“I suppose you’d either want to stay with your mother for the summer or stay here.” He suggested. “Are you and Rigo going to stay in this flat again next year?”

Lizzie crossed her legs, one over the other, and jiggled her free foot absently. “We haven’t discussed it. In any case, I don’t really have anyone else to live with but him and Melody.”

“What about Katie?” He scooted back a little on the bed, toward the wall, getting comfortable. 

Lizzie recrossed her legs, gipping one knee with her hand, as she pressed her lips together. “We’ve hardly spoken this whole semester.” They hadn’t spoken at all, as a matter of fact, and Henry knew this.

“Really?”

“I’ve tried calling, but… she never picks up or returns my calls. And when I see her on campus it’s only in passing. She never stops and chats.” And here she was, again, airing her feeling to Henry. Lizzie almost seemed to be making a habit of it, these days.

He was peering into the depths of his cup when Henry said. “I saw her the other day, Rigo and I did. She was with Richard Perkin. With him - with him, you know.”

“Well, that explains a lot.” Her jaw stiffened and she looked away from him, at the shallow box of resume paper on her desk.

He didn’t know what to say. Lizzie was clearly hurt. Doubly so. First by Charles’ infidelity and lies, and then by Katie’s abandonment. “You seem to have got closer with Anne, though?” His voice lifted the end of the sentence in a question.

“Yes, she’s… a… she makes a fine friend.” 

“And Rigo.”

She nodded.

“And Melody.”

“She’s family.”

“And… me?”

Lizzie set her mug down on the desk behind her chair. “Hmm.” She hummed a non-committal response that could have easily have been either agreement or derision. 

For some reason it immediately vexed him. He wasn’t normally the type to crave the approval of others, but, well, her indifference pinched him. They’d fallen into a routine of periodically catching up and spending time together, she’d messily poured her heart out to him after her breakup, he’d even introduced her to his mum. If they weren’t friends, what were they? “Oh?”

“What?”

“We are friends, aren’t we Lizzie?” He had resumed his spot on the edge of the mattress, as if it would make his escape easier if things went suddenly sideways.

“Well,” She reached a hand behind her neck and swept her hair over one shoulder, twirling the ends between her fingers as her hand grazed the length of her locks, “We’ll see after we regroup next semester I suppose.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We haven’t known one another very long and… some things don’t last.” 

Was this about him going away for the summer? “I won’t be like Katie, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m good at corresponding, just ask my mum.”

She looked as though she was about to say something, to counter his assertion. But she bit her lip instead, swallowing back the words. “Right.”

“Lizzie…” But what could he say, really? “I know Katie and Charles… they hurt you. And I get that you aren’t the most trusting right now.” She averted her eyes from him, as though she didn’t want to listen to his words. But she needed to hear this, and he knew she was listening anyway. “But just, please, know that I’m not going to do that to you.” He licked his lips. “Rigo’s not going to do that to you. Melody’s not going to do that to you. Your mum and your sisters aren’t going to do that to you. None of us is going anywhere.”

Lizzie looked up to meet his gaze, and Henry tried to politely ignore how her eyes had gone all glassy and how the color had risen to her cheeks and nose in blotches. “Thank you.” She said in a low voice, nearly a whisper.

Standing, Henry rested a hand on her shoulder where she sat in her desk chair. “I’m only ever a phone call away… if you need me.”

When Henry stopped off in the kitchen to put his mug in the sink, he found Rigo alone at the kitchen table, his cohort of peers having slipped out at some point.

“You two were in there for a while.” Rigo said, absently peeling an orange as he looked up from his text book to watch Henry pause at the sink.

“Yeah, we were, uh, just catching up.”

Rigo seemed to prevaricate as he dropped the peel of his orange onto the birch table top, “And is she- did she seem ok to you?”

So, Henry could only assume, Rigo knew. “I think she’s just really lonely and really hurt. We just need to be there for her.”

“She seems more willing to take comfort from Mariah Carey than from me.”

Henry cocked his head to one side, “Huh?”

“She’s been cooped up in that room playing Mariah Carey over and over. I catch her in the kitchen some times, and Anne has come by, but, she’s pretty much kept to herself these past few days.”

“I’ll see what I can do to cheer her up.” Henry said before he stalked to the front door.

****

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” A high pitched voice inquired imperiously over the phone line.

Henry slumped onto his sofa, cordless phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear. “Do you even know who this is?”

A sigh. “I have caller ID, darling.”

“Right. Well, how are you, mum?”

“Doing fine. Wish I saw more of my son, but I suppose I’ll have to make do with phone calls.”

“The semester’s nearly over, mum, I’ll see you then.”

“Briefly.” Was she queen of the guilt trips, or what? “Then you’ll be off to Swansea for your internship.”

“Cardiff.” He corrected her lightly.

“Then one more year of school, and then… who knows.” She sighed. “Probably back to Wales.”

“Mum.” His tone was even and held a note of finality, a punctuation to her antics. “I wanted to know if I could borrow the country home for a few days after finals are over.”

There was a long pause, and Henry almost though she’d hung up on him. “Whatever for?”

“Just to… have some of my mates round. Celebrate year-end.”

“Mates? Who?”

“Rigo, Rich, Anne, Melody, Lizzie, and uh… yeah, that’s it.”

“How is Lizzie?”

What? “She’s uh… She’s fine. Finally broke it off with her knob of a boyfriend.”

“Henry!” She admonished.

But he persevered. “And she’s looking for some summer work.”

“Oh, anywhere I know? I could, uh, put in a word for her, you know.”

“I think her dream is with the Charity Commission,” he remembered the organization was at the top of the list he had spied on her desk the other day, “and you would do that for her?”

“Yes, of course. Her mother and I are friends. Or, well, we were friends. Moved in the same circles for years. It wouldn’t be a thing at all.”

Henry’s brows knit in consternation. “Her mum? I never knew that? You never mentioned a Mrs. York.”

“Oh, well, darling, that’s because she kept her maiden name. Woodville. You would have been off at school during the time in question, but, Elizabeth Woodville and I were quite close.”

In fact, he did know the name. Even if he hadn’t been reading the papers or following the politics at the time, he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, the Edward York had been married to Elizabeth Woodville. He hadn’t ever put it all together, at least not in relation to Lizzie. How had he failed to connect all the dots?

“How is her mum, by the way? Do you know?” His mum carried on.

“Uh, yeah, she’s great. Works at a Catholic school these days.”

“Well, that’s lovely. Hold on just a moment.” Henry could hear the sounds of a brief muffled conversation. “You there, darling?”

“Yeah.” Henry combed his fingers through his hair.

“Look, I have to jump off here, but” she sighed, “You can use the house, just… don’t let your friends get too wild. Leave it just how you found it. I’ll be quite cross if you lot make a tip of the place.”

“Absolutely. Thanks mum.”

“I love you, do well in school.”

“Thanks mum, I love you too.”

****

The words just went on and on, as did the pages. Though the sun had long since slipped below the horizon, allowing a darkness to paint the sky, Henry was still sat at the oversized oak table in the library, cheek in hand as he propped up his head with a heavy elbow on the table. 

“This assignment is so dry.” Rich was sat beside him, rubbing his eyes.

“No kidding.” Henry just barely stifled a yawn and scribbled a note in his notebook. “Hey, Rich, I’m having some people round our country home for a few days following finals, you know, to celebrate the end of the year. You and Anne want to come?”

“Sure, but I start my summer job the week following finals, so…”

Henry understood. “Yeah, of course, we wont be there that long. Where’re you working at?” His mum would have slapped him on the wrist for ending a sentence with a preposition, but surprisingly uni had made him more lax about the strict rules of grammar.

“Plantagenet & York, of course.” He smiled ruefully. “Dad worked there, and my brother does now, so…”. At least he wasn’t the only one slightly embarrassed about benefitting from unmitigated nepotism.

“Yeah, of course.”

“And you?”

Henry looked up from his notes. “DeVere Law Group.” 

“DeVere?” Rich frowned in confusion, brows peaking. “Did that used to be-“

“Lancaster Law Group? Yeah, but after my dad passed there were some new partners who renamed the firm.” His mum had been furious about the change, but she didn’t have much of a say in the matter.

“You know, I heard a rumor there was going to be another student working there this summer.” 

“I’m not surprised, they have a whole summer program for students.”

“No, another student from our class.” Rich tilted his chin down and leveled Henry with a significant look, his emerald eyes flashing darkly.

“Oh?”

“Three guesses who, and the first two don’t count. But I’ll give you a hint - he’s insufferable.”

Henry heaved a heavy sigh, he had a feeling he knew just who Rich was referring to. “Are you shitting me?” He asked warily.

“Nah, mate. And I’m pretty sure the rumor is true.” Rich was shaking his head. “Anyway, how far have you gotten in this reading?”

“Page 348.” Henry flipped forward in his text a few pages, “Only 7 more to go, but each one is like pulling teeth.” 

But he was honestly still thinking about what Rich had told him. If Richard Perkin really was going to be at the same office as him, he would have little chance of avoiding the arse. It would also mean that he would be competing with Richard for good assignments and praise from above. Henry was acutely aware that all he had going for him were his scholastic merits and his high breeding. Like he stood any chance against the charismatic Adonis?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is *so* dialogue heavy, I just had to set some things in motion for the coming chapters.
> 
> Also, I know it's confusing but -- to make Rich into Henry and Lizzie's friend I made the decision a while ago that in this rendition he is not Lizzie's uncle. Rich's brother is not Lizzie's father, in this fic they are two distinct characters (neither of which make an appearance). I imagine Rich, Henry, and Lizzie as all being quite distantly related, but not so immediately related as they are in history.


	12. Chapter 12

“Guys, guys, guys, guys!” Lizzie shrieked as she burst from her tiny room and danced down the hallway to the lounge, the cordless phone still in her hand. “I got it!” She announced gleefully to the room.

“Oh, well done!” Melody smiled.

“Congrats!” Rigo said.

“I knew you would.” Henry replied, in lieu of congratulations. 

“I start just when we get back from our trip.” She launched into scattered recap of the phone call as she settling into her spot on the love seat beside Rigo. “They said I had a great qualifications and came highly recommended. Oh, and the job it sounds just perfect. I’ll be in London, working in their main office five days a week.”

“And what will you be doing?” Henry asked, sipping his coffee from a mug.

“Whatever they tell me to do. I’m just there to learn what I can about working for charities and non-profits.”

He considered this, and cocked his head to one side, “You should ask that they get you in touch with their legal department or their public policy devision.”

“And why would I do that?”  
“Because you already know everyone in government and you could assist them through the contacts you have.”

The cheek, him telling her what to do. “You know, Henry, I think we see you more now than we ever did when you actually lived here.

He swallowed, “Well, I wouldn’t say that.” Setting his mug down on the table he readjusted the textbook on his lap. “Anyway, we’re all very proud of you Lizzie.”

“Thank you.”

“Does this mean you’ll be able to hang out during the summer?” Melody asked, smoothing a hand over her page of notes on her lap. “Because I’m hoping I’ll have more time to socialize once school is out.”

“Of course, Mel. I feel like I’ve barely seen you all semester.”

“I can’t believe we’re going to be breaking up for summer so soon.” Rigo looked up from his book. “I’ll be back to Spain, Lizzie and Mel to London, Henry… to the wilderness.”

This earned an exaggerated eye roll from Henry and a deadpanned, “Ha ha.”

“Which reminds me,” Rigo continued, swinging his head from one flatmate to the other, “Lizzie, Mel, are we sharing a flat again next year?”

The girls nodded their agreement, “But we might need a bigger flat.” Lizzie’s voice pitched a little higher, and she bit back a nervous smile, “I may have promised Eddie, my mum’s baby brother, that he could come live with us.”

Rigo looked askance at her. “Your mother’s brother?”

“He’s the same age as Henry. He goes to out uni, his flatmates are all graduating, and he needed a place to live… and I said he could come live with us. I hope you don’t mind. Besides… we need a new place, this one is a bit small…”

“Not if two people share the room Melody is in.” Henry interjected. “You could really save on rent if that room was shared. And, then you lot wouldn’t have to move out at all.”

“That’s certainly something to consider.” Melody flicked a page in her text book. “But I’m ok with Eddie joining us if Rigo is.”

Rigo shrugged, “The more the merrier, right?”

****

The weeks flashed past them, a jumbled mess of reading, revising, note taking, late nights, typewriter keys, greasy food, too many cups of tea, untidy flats, frustrating exams, and finally, finally, the sigh of relief at the end of it all.

And then the bags were packed, and they were leaving for Ms. Beaufort’s country home in two vehicles, fairly caravanning out into the countryside in tandem.

The place did not disappoint. As Henry explained, it was a medieval manor house, built in the pre-Tudor style, and had been in the family since the foundation had been laid centuries ago. Only the necessary modernizations had been made: electricity, twentieth century kitchen appliances, radiators aplenty, and running water, to name a few. And only a handful of unnecessary modernizations, namely the swimming pool in the garden. 

There was even a banqueting hall with a balcony for a live band, a small chapel, and stables in the courtyard, which held an impressive collection of vehicles, including a 1960’s era Land Rover. 

Henry showed each of his guests to their rooms, maintaining his own childhood bedroom himself. Lizzie’s room was a wood paneled chamber, complete with a stone mantled fireplace, and a massive four poster bed. The en suite was perfection, with a roll top bath tub, Chinese painted wall paper, and patterned tile on the floor. She felt spoilt.

At Anne’s suggestion, the girls headed into town together to gather provisions for the week, while the boys worked to uncover the pool, gather up the firewood, and generally ready the house for visitors.

“A week away is just what we needed.” Anne declared, as she steered the old Land Rover over the bumps in the country lane. “And some time with girl friends.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Melody asked, unabashedly.

“No, I just…” Lizzie glanced across from the passenger seat and saw Annie’s face had grown hot. “I’ve always struggled to befriend other girls. Especially as I’m in a long, committed relationship at a young age. Most girls see me and assume I’m no fun. That I just… cling to my boyfriend.”

Melody shrunk in the backseat, “Oh.” That had certainly not been what she had expected.

“Combine that with my only sister’s death just a year ago, and… well… it’s just nice to have some girl friends.” Anne, usually the one Lizzie saw as the cornerstone of female strength, was showing a small chink in the armor she normally projected to the world.

Lizzie laid her hand over Anne’s on the gear shift. “We appreciate your friendship too. I don’t know how I would have got through the past few months without you.”

“I- I didn’t know about your sister.” Melody said quietly, “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, I, uh, it’s been really hard.” She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “But, having you two, especially you Lizzie - no offense Melody -“

“None taken, I’ve had my nose in my books all semester.”

“It’s been hugely helpful.”

Lizzie felt bad. She’d known Anne had lost a sister, but she didn’t know it had been her only sister, and she didn’t know the loss had been so recent. “Well, we’re going to have an amazing week and once we’re back in London I’m going to be calling you both each weekend to meet up.”

Melody and Anne agreed and they brainstormed fun activities to enjoy together through the summer, various ways to fill the weekends.

The food shop was a success, though Lizzie had pressured them into buying rather too much bread, expensive cheese, and a selection of wines. Anne had been the one adding all the sensible options to the cart, and Melody had been the one keeping a mental tally of how much they were spending.

The days were lovely, warm, and long. There was no shortage of things to enjoy in the country. Drives out on the property, fishing at the pond, swimming in the pool, singing karaoke in the hall, dining in garden, long walks on the trails, and short nips into town. With plenty of good food, and great company, it was the perfect wind down to the school year.

They discovered how well Richard built a roaring fire, how handy Rigo was in the kitchen, and how companionable Melody could be, for all her quiet shyness.

One night, after the dinner had been shared and cleared, after the bonfire had been lit and flared, and after the group had chatted and then headed off to bed, Lizzie remained behind. Stretched out on the outdoor sofa on the patio in her sundress, under a velvety canopy dotted with blinking stars, she took in the stillness of the countryside, the quietude of her own company, and the feeling of a warm summer breeze on her bare shoulders.

There were footsteps behind her, crossing from the hardwoods inside onto the flagstone outside. Lizzie felt that normally the addition of another would be a disturbance to her solitary reverie, but somehow, perhaps instinctively, she knew who it was and she wasn’t bothered.

“My mum loves this album.” 

She could feel Henry’s presence behind her, could feel his hands on the back of the sofa as his fingers curled around the scrollwork. Was he looking out over the pool like she was, at the way the lights from within illuminated the ripples on the surface? Or was he looking out at the rolling hills and lawns dotted with trees, bathed in the eerie blue light of the moon and stars?

“Oh?” The dulcet tones drifted back to her from the record player just inside the door to the house. 

“She’s always loved music, I’m surprised that record player isn’t worn out.”

She thought of all the times she had heard music emanating from under the door to his room, when he’d been her flatmate, of all the times she had gone round his and there had been a record spinning on the turntable. “Is that where you get your love of music from?” Lizzie turned, finally, laying her chin on one shoulder to look back up at him. A newly lit cigarette dangled from his lips.

“If not her,” he grinned and her eyes tracked his motions as he came around the sofa to take the seat beside her, “Then who?”

Her eyes asked the question she failed to phrase.

“It was just mum and me and my Uncle Jasper when I was growing up. My mum had me when she was only fourteen, and my dad died before I was born. Mum felt she couldn’t return home, not with a baby, so she stayed on with my dad’s brother Jasper at his home in Wales.” Henry sighed. “Jasper isn’t much of a one for music, with him it’s all sport. But mum, mum loves music.”

Lizzie had known Henry’s mum had been a teen when she had him, but… “Fourteen?”

“That’s what you got from all that?” Henry’s grin seemed almost melancholy. “Yeah, she had been dating my dad, who was much older than her.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “They wanted to get married but… she was fourteen. I say ‘they’, but really, it was just him. She was only a child, and she was easily impressed upon and manipulated. She’s never been totally candid with me about the whole affair, she said once they were engaged, but… a twenty-six year old man and a fourteen year old girl?” He gave a long exhale, shaking his head slowly, “It’s not right.”

Faced with such unusual candor, Lizzie hardly knew what to say. “Tell me about your dad?”

Henry licked his lips, “His name was Edmund Tudor — yes mum gave me his name, I don’t exactly understand that one myself. But I treat it as a nod to my uncle, who more or less raised me as his son. Most people assume he’s my dad anyway, if they don’t know any better. But, anyway, dad took ill while mum was pregnant with me. Pneumonia and severe sepsis. And he died a few months before I was born.”

“I had no idea.”

“Most people either don’t know, or don’t remember.” He admitted. “The fact that mum has been able to move past it, and make such a successful career for herself in Parliament is just a testament to how brilliant she is. Anyway, it’s not like I lost a loving father who I had a relationship with.” The comment was fraught with meaning, was this how he chose to draw her out? He took off his glasses, carefully folded them and slipped them into the breast pocket of his shirt.

She supposed it was only fair to share with him her own father. “True. But growing up as one of eight children means you have to share your father. And growing up the daughter of a prime minister means that you share him with the whole kingdom.” Lizzie twisted her ring about on her finger, “Anyway, Lord knows mum had to share him with a whole host of other women.”

Slowly Henry’s brows raised as he looked at her sidelong.

“Oh, don’t look so scandalized! His womanizing was the worst kept secret in Britain! Besides, it wasn’t exactly the charmed life. I can still remember all the arguments about politics and women and money and so forth that went on in that house. And whenever dad was out of favor, or out of office… times were hard.”

“Harder, more so, after he died?” 

It dawned on her they had never talked like this before. Talked about all the background stuff, the things that made them who they were. “Incredibly harder. He left mum with nothing but his debts. We had to sell the house and everything else that we could. Mum took it all very badly. But we survived.”

“Are you staying with your family in the council flat this summer?” So he remembered that, did he?

“Mum was able to move out, she’s rented a little home by the school in Blackheath. Cecily says it’s quite nice, ‘charming’ is how she put it.” The news had lifted her spirits considerably, especially as Cee’s letter seemed so happy. “It’s still a bit of a tight-sneeze, but it’ll be ok. And where do you plan to stay this summer? With your surrogate father?”

Henry snorted, “Surrogate father.” He echoed cheerily. “No, Jasper will be in Swansea, but he’s letting me stay at his home in Cardiff. It’s a lovely little row home. You should come visit.” There was a beat, a clear beat. “If you ever, you know, need a weekend out of the city.”

She didn’t want to pin any particular meaning on the invite, that would certainly be a mistake. “I may just have to take you up on that.”

“Hmm.” He noted, as he stood, stamping his cigarette out in the glass ashtray on the sidetable. “I’m going to go change the record, this the last song on this side.”

Lizzie’s eyes drifted back over the landscape beyond the pool and garden. The tall grass on the swells of the hills danced in the breeze that played through the blades. A family of deer emerged timidly from a distant tree line and picked their way, hesitantly, across a field. The needle of the record player skipped over some dust before it settled into the groove of the first song.

A host of strings played lightly as Lizzie turned to watch Henry at the record player just beyond the open door. His head was bowed and his eyes closed as if savoring the start of the song, steeping in the moment. She glanced away when he moved to come back onto the patio.

“Billie Holiday?”

“Good ear.” He remarked, the light behind him seemed to burnish a halo about his mess of curls. “[Lady in Satin](https://youtu.be/gncbydxqE4Y)."

Coming around the sofa he held stopped short of sitting, and instead extended his hand. “Care to dance?”

“Henry…”. She felt about to chuckle at the absurdity, but then caught his mirthful gray eyes. They seemed to hold the soft glint an undefined challenge. And Lizzie felt herself getting to her feet as she slid her hand into his cool fingers.

He led her to a cleared area of the patio by the pool’s edge. The glow of the lights from under the water illuminated the plains and sharp angles of his face where her eyes came to rest on him as he guided her to face him. Hand still in his, the fingers of her other came to lightly grip his shoulder, and he slipped an arm about the narrow circle of her waist. When his hand pressed to the small of her back, she arched to his touch as she could feel his fingers spread across the area. With a slight pressure from his palm she angled closer to his body. 

She focused on the lyrics of the song and the soaring strings of “[I’m a Fool to Want You](https://youtu.be/qA4BXkF8Dfo)” and stepped a little nearer as they made a swaying circle.

“Do you remember a few weeks ago I asked if we were friends?” He asked, tilting his chin so he could look down upon her.

“Unfortunately.” She begrudgingly admitted.

“And you said, essentially, we’ll see?”

Her brows angled sadly above her dark eyes and her lips tugged down at the corners. “I’m so sorry, I was… in such a bad place.”

“So, we are friends?”

She cocked her head to one side, and smirked. “I guess.” Her’s was a playful tone.

Chuckling easily his eyes rolled heavenward for a moment. “I suppose that will have to do for now.”

The night was perfectly still, it was just their lethargic dancing, the shimmer of the lights on the pool’s surface, the rustle of the leaves of the tree that arched overhead, and the rasping melody of the singer’s voice. Loathe as she was to admit it, even to herself, even just in her own head, she never wanted this night, this moment, to end. It seemed enchanted, and she, completely spellbound.

Maybe it was the dancing, maybe it was the music, maybe it was was some factor she had never given the moment or space to mature in her mind, but as the songs wore on she inched closer and closer to her partner, unbidden. As the final bars of "[Violets For Your Furs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JP8oaJYgUrs)" faded out, Lizzie was surprised to find her own cheek resting on Henry’s chest. Almost as surprised as she was to feel how his heart was beating beneath.

Her breath caught and she pulled away, but not out of his arms. “Should I go flip the record?”

“No.” His gaze on her was heavy, but not unwelcome, and for once she didn’t turn away. “Lizzie, would you be terribly cross with me if I…” he bit at his lower lip before finishing, “if I were to kiss you?”

Her heart warmed and all the feeling went out of all her limbs, as she was given over to the flutters within. She had solemnly sworn to herself that they were strictly friends, and that she wasn’t going to unnecessarily complicate their relationship, but now with him standing there in front of her, asking to kiss her, and the softness in his eyes, and the way he was looking at her… what was a girl to do? “Maybe.” She heard her own voice in her ears. 

“I think I can live with that risk.” He grinned as his hand lifted to her neck, fingers curling around the nape as his thumb stroked her jawline. A light gesture that ignited a flush across the apples of Lizzie’s cheeks.

And then his other hand was creeping up the small of her back to graze between her shoulder blades, and that was when she closed her eyes and felt his lips upon her own. Soft, pliant, warm. He tasted of the wine they’d been enjoying earlier, she discovered, when his tongue flicked past her lips. Her hand on his shoulder skimmed from its position, across his back and up the back of his neck until her fingers were in those golden curls. 

Breaking away for a shuddering breath, Lizzie could only feel Henry pulling her closer to himself, their bodies pressed together. 

“And are you terribly cross?” He breathed, eyes dark with blown out pupils.

“Only a little.” 

He smirked, “I told you it was worth the risk.”

With his knuckles under her chin, lifting her face to his, he was back to kissing her again. A long, languid kiss. She could just melt into this instant, into his arms, into the breathless, heady sensation he gave her. Who knew Tudor could kiss? And so exquisitely? It made her wonder, briefly, what else he was good at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this has been a terribly slow burn, but thanks for hanging in there to this point! I'd always planned for them to finally have their first real kiss on this trip. I know not everyone has shared in my vision so far as the timing or pacing of this story, but, this is how I always wanted to write it. 
> 
> Hope ya'll stick around because I have so much more story to tell!


	13. Chapter 13

Henry loved to drive. Loved to map his own route, set his own speed, make his scheduled stops. Driving was also cathartic, long stretches of time alone in the driver's seat, running on autopilot, provided him with ample time for thought. And he had plenty to think of.

Like any meticulous and serious young man, Henry had carefully planned out his life. What institutions he would attend, what courses he would take, what degree he would receive, what job he would take, how long it would take him to make partner, what the company would look like under his eventual leadership. Or maybe rather unlike his peers Henry had a five, a ten, and a twenty year plan. He was goals oriented and he had plenty of goals. Was topping the Forbes thirty under thirty list aiming too high? He certainly didn't think so.

Any relationships included in his plan were merely incidental. His five year plan included a wife. His ten year plan included two children. Hazy figures, vague shapes, faceless identities. Incidental. Yes.

The problem was, Lizzie York was anything but incidental. She was the fly in the ointment, the pin in the gears, the unaccountable whirlwind through his rationally planned out life. She raised more questions than she answered. And Henry hated that these questions intrigued him 

Were they a couple? Did he want to be a couple? Would the relationship last? Maybe they were better off friends after all? Were they?

The truth was, and it was only fair to admit it, she was well out of his league. Sure, Henry had drive, and brains, and breeding, and means. And those things counted for something. But she was still out of his league. Clever, intelligent, well-breed, sweet, kind and, yes, the most beautiful creature he'd ever beheld.

It didn't make sense. She, didn’t make sense. Not in the context of his life, as he saw it. 

He wanted her. He wasn't ashamed of that. Not really. How could he be? She hadn't exactly rebuffed his latest advances, in fact, he fancied himself she'd rather enjoyed those advances. But he didn't want all that to derail his plans. His rational and ambitious plans. 

"Fuck." He mumbled, slamming the heel of his palm into the rim of the steering wheel. It really wasn't the worst conundrum, but it was a dilemma nonetheless. Go for the girl and potentially lose sight of his goals, or sideline her and continue on his route as planned to a very certain, and possibly lonely, destination.

Advice, sound advice, would have been very welcome at this juncture. But, who could he trust. Who would both understand and give an informed opinion.

His colleagues, such as they were, wouldn't understand his plans. Jasper wouldn't understand the woman. Mum wouldn't... well, it just wasn't something one brought to their mum, was it?

Sighing, he glanced about at the surroundings that a flew past him. He hated that she occupied so much of his mind, that she lived rent-free in his head, seeping into his thoughts like he had nothing better to think about than the aroma of her hair, the feel of her skin under his fingertips, the way her whole countenance could hold a challenge. It wasn't fair.

He'd left her, just that morning, as they all set out from mum's house. His hands had itched to pull her close, tuck the blond locks that had come loose from her pony tail behind her ear, and whisper... oh gosh what would he whisper? I'll miss you? Cliche, but true.

She was doing it, even now, he realized, invading his thoughts. Didn't he have anything better to think about? Something better to occupy his mind with?

Cardiff, 10km

A sign he clipped past read. His eyes darted to the map spread across the passenger seat. Historically, he had gone to Cardiff occasionally with Jasper, but seldom had he navigated the city solo. 

****

The townhouse was a squat, plain little thing. Simply whitewashed and relatively unadorned, sandwiched between two decidedly more grand homes. But it was serviceable, safe, and all his for the summer.

The key Jasper had mailed to him fitted the lock and Henry found the interior little altered since his last visit a few years before. It was a Spartan home, with few embellishment and modestly furnished with the essentials. Simple furniture stood against the stark white walls and treadworn wood floors. 

The lounge held a comfy sofa, an unobtrusively small tv, and a desk fitted into a nook beside the fireplace. The eat in kitchen was all white shaker cabinets with a wood work top, and a table for four. Upstairs were two bed rooms and a shared washroom. In short, it was perfectly fine.

A note trapped under a magnet on the fridge bore the legend:

"H, welcome home. Hope this suits. There's food in the fridge, help yourself. Call if you need anything. See you soon. -J."

By the time Henry's clothes had found their way into his wardrobe, his toiletries had been arranged in the washroom, and he'd popped out to get some food, the sky was starting to lose the light. He found the corded phone in the kitchen and leaned against the counter as he dialed.

"Hey mum, it's me." He greeted when the ringing on the line ceased.

"Henry? It's about time. When did you get in?"

"A bit after 5."

"That nearly three hours gone now!" There was confusion in her voice.

"Yeah, sorry. I should have checked in earlier. Hey, thanks for letting us stay at the house this past week. We all had a good time." He wound the phone's cord about his index finger.

"Hmmm, and everything was left as you found it?" She sounded skeptical.

"Yes mum."

"And did you go down to the creek?"

"Mm hmm." He knew where this was headed.

"Did you track mud into the Land Rover?" 

"No mum, we were all very civil and clean. And I gave the car a good wash anyway, just for good measure." He had, indeed, stole down to the stables early one morning to wash it top to bottom.

"So how did you spend your week then, not in total debauchery and slothfulfulness I hope."

"Would I ever?" He rolled his eyes. "We spent it in all the normal ways you and I do when we're there." 

She fairly begged the particulars, and Henry, knowing how she wished so much to be a part of his life, detailed their activities for her. She inquired after his friends and he described them for her and told her fun stories. 

Margaret could be a severe woman to the untrained eye, but her life had necessitated she display a prickly exterior. To her intimates she was a fun and loving companion, but Henry still wouldn't dare use the descriptor "fun-loving.

"Now, I hope when Tom and I come up next week the place won't reek of smoke and that there won't be cigarette butts in the flower beds."

"Mum.. " he sighed. He couldn't make any guarantees, he had been smoking less, but he hadn't quite quit all together. 

"Hmmm, anyway," her tone changed almost imperceptibly, "now that your little friend Lizzie will be working in the same building as me, I think I'll pop down and say hi to her tomorrow."

"Mum!" She'd neglected to mention that little detail when she'd agreed to write Lizzie the recommendation for the position. 

"What? I won't tell her about the letter, if that's what you're worried about."

It wasn't just that, it was... well, the girl he liked and his mum? Chumming it up? The idea made the tips of his ears burn red and he wasn't entirely sure why. 

"I thought it would only be polite to take her to lunch. Lord knows what she'd think of me if she found we were in the same building and that I hadn't stopped to say hello!"

Henry had the distinct impression his mum knew she was playing on his nerves, she was just waiting for him to admit it. Well, he decided, he'd rather they had lunch than him admit to his mother what had transpired between him and Lizzie. "No, mum, you're absolutely right." He held the receiver away from his mouth as he groaned in exasperation. "You should absolutely say hello. Lunch may be a bit much though."

"Yes, well," she navigated around making any commitments to him, "are you feeling ready for tomorrow yourself? Have you laid out a smart suit for the morning?"

"No, I actually planned to go rather casual. Jeans and a collared shirt should do." 

There was a beat of silence on the line, then, "I know you aren't serious, but please promise me you have a suit pressed and --"

"Yes, of course."

And he really did. Of course.

Which helped him to arrive particularly early the next morning. The receptionist even mentioned, as he waited for the office manager to collect him from the lobby, that he was the first intern there.

He was shown to a knocked up wood desk in the bull pen, hemmed in by proper offices and conference rooms on the perimeters. A desktop computer dominated the desk space, but he was grateful he hadn't been stuck with a typewriter. 

"The others will be arriving soon and we'll have an orientation in the conference room. Until then feel free to grab a cuppa and settle in." The portly office manager smiled before she headed back to her own office.

The office kitchenette was blessedly empty when Henry found it and he was able to put the kettle on in silence. But before it began to whistle he had been joined by a tall, barrel chested, middle aged man.

"Ah, you must be Jasper's boy!" He greeted boisterously, thrusting his open hand toward Henry.

He took it and gave his best firm handshake, something the aforementioned Jasper had taught him as a young boy. "Well, yes. But, how did you-"

"Oh, he talks of you and there's pictures of you lot paling it up on the family estate in his office. There’s a picture of you and him in your tennis whites shaking hands over the net after you bested him this last Christmas. Mind you, he's still bitter about that."

He would be. "I hope he didn't tell you I cheated." Henry grinned as he poured the boiling water into his cup.

The man held out his own cup for water as well, " No, no, says you won fair and square. But blames his loss on his old age, you know."

Henry dropped a tea bag in his cup and glanced over at the man who was fixing his own cup. "I'm sorry, I feel so rude, but I don't think I caught your name." He said.

"That's alright, I don't think I gave it." He thrust his hand out again, "John de Vere, at your service."

"Pleasure to meet you, though I fear it's more the other way round, as it seems I'm at your service."

John dropped his spoon into the sink, his cup dwarfed in his great hand, "In a way. But please don't hesitate to ask if you need any help with anything.”

By the time Henry found himself being ushered into the conference room, the other interns had shown up. The group was a mixture of eager eyed hopefuls and fidgety, uncomfortably shy types. It was a small cohort, and so the jovial, white blond Richard stuck out immediately to Henry. 

“Hey there!” Richard greeted, as though he hadn’t spent the better part of the past semester giving Henry a proper cold shoulder.

Henry merely lifted a corner of his mouth into a half smile and nodded his acknowledgement of Richard. He didn’t feel particularly bound to give the pretentious arse the time of day, and he didn’t particularly care how it made him look to his peers or office-mates. 

He selected a seat toward where he anticipated the speaker addressing them would be, and popped his spectacles onto the bridge of his nose.

“Hi, I’m Reggie Bray.” The guy next to him said promptly, a pencil and pad in his hand, quick, dark eyes roving Henry’s face as if familiarizing himself with the features.

“Henry Tudor.” He introduced himself. 

The eyes brightened, and Reggie’s countenance turned open. “Margaret Beaufort’s son?” 

He was a little taken aback, few people managed that connection unless they were intimate with the family, given the different surnames. “You know my mother?”

Reggie set his pencil and pad on the conference table before him. “My family’s accounting firm have handled her books for years. I’ve helped around the office for a long time and she’s one of our bigger accounts so…”

“I see. Well, it’s good to make your acquaintance.” 

And not a moment too soon, for John de Vere had swept into the conference room and was positioning himself to stand at the head of the table, his sturdy figure an imposing one in a room of young students.

“Good morning.” He greeted with the confidence peculiar to a man who inexplicably owns every room he enters. “Welcome to the de Vere Law Group. I am John de Vere. If you are here I think it safe to assume you already know the rudimentaries of our firm, the various partners, the work we do, our areas of practice and so forth. I’ll keep this brief, as you know, in the legal profession, time really is money.” He paused and there was an offering of polite chuckles. “Myself and Jasper Tudor formed this group some twenty years ago to focus on Business Law and Tax Law, both civil and litigation sides of the spectrum. We have offices throughout Wales in all the major cities, and have high hopes to open an office in London in the near future.”

“Speaking of the future, and as some of you may already know, while this internship may occupy some of you for a summer, and may be utilized as a building block for your post-graduation resume — every summer we offer one of our undergraduate interns a post-graduate clerkship to hold while they embark on the process of becoming a barrister or solicitor.”

Henry’s ears fairly perked up. Jasper had never mentioned this particular opportunity.

“We offer this clerkship to our top intern, and the position is translated into your pupillage or apprenticeship at the appropriate time.” He clasped his hands, templing his fingers and studying the riveted expressions of the students around the room. “We need hard workers, who consistently give us their best work product, who we can integrate into long term positions at our firm.”

“But, we of course recognize that each of you is here for experience, and we have plenty of that to give. Assignments will be handled by our office manager, who you have all already met, and she will be coordinating your experiences this summer. You may find yourself working on a file together with a lawyer, or perhaps working in teams under a particular partner, as each legal matter dictates.”

“And now, I’ll yield the floor to Miss. Ellen Evans, your fearless leader.”

Ellen, the plump, mid-thirties, office manager he had met earlier, thanked John and took up his abandoned position before the students. She tucked her deep auburn hair behind one small ear and hoisted a pile of manilla file folders toped by a clipboard onto one rounded hip. “Please come up as I call your names to collect your initial matters. All the information you need to get started will be inside your files. If I call more than one name you’ll be working together and will need to share the files or else make your own copies - as you see fit. Alright, let’s get started.”

Henry watched as his fellow interns received their assignments, catching on pretty quickly that the list was alphabetized by last name. After collecting their assignments, they each filed out with their folders, heading back for their desks or else one of the copier machines, to get a head start on their work, and to begin striving for the single clerkship awarded.

As he waited, Henry compared de Vere to his uncle Jasper. Henry had always fancied himself able to get quick and often accurate reads of people. He could see how de Vere and Jasper's personalities would complement one another in business. Where Jasper was more withdrawn, de Vere was forward and friendly. Where Jasper could be meticulous with the details, de Vere seemed driven by the bigger picture. Where Jasper thought well on his feet, de Vere seemed like a planner. But both seemed to be forward thinkers, always looking to the future and how to get ahead.

“Henry Tudor.” Ellen called at last, and he started getting out of his chair. “And… Richard Perkin.”

It was all he could do not to groan and roll his eyes. So, they were going to have to partner up on this, were they? He cast a look in Richard’s direction, were he was standing and fastening the middle button of his suit jacket in one swift motion. 

“Was it that bad?” The voice on the line crackled that evening as Henry sat perched on the kitchen worktop, tie loosened, top button undone, and sleeves rolled up. Somewhere in the lounge his suit jacket lay folded over the back of a chair, glasses snugly tucked into the breast pocket. 

“No, not today. I mean, I just made copies of what was in the file and took it back to my desk to read through.”

“What do you mean, ‘not today’? Do you think it will be hard to work with him moving forward?”

“Yes.” Henry set down his bottle of beer on the worktop beside him.

“Come on, you used to be good friends. You’ll be fine. Besides, you don’t have to work that closely, do you?”

He liked the way she made it sound easy. “No, we don’t have to, but I want to demonstrate that I’m a team player, that I can get along with others.” Even as he said it, Henry averted his eyes from the file on the kitchen table, and the stack of legal guidebooks and statute codes he’d sourced from his uncle’s home library. He hadn’t exactly been forbidden from taking work home, but Henry would do anything to get an edge on the others. A trait he’d rather keep from the one person who seemed to think he was genuinely normal and nice.

“Even arrogant arses?” There was a teasing note there.

“Especially arrogant arses.” He ran a hand through his neatly combed hair, loosening the curls from the hold of the gel. “But enough about that. Tell me about your first day.”

“Hmmmm, what about it? It was rather boring, truth be told.”

But she told him all about it anyway. Henry had told himself that he wouldn’t call her that evening, that he would give her some time and space. He didn’t want to put too much meaning onto that kiss. Or, well, kisses. Besides, he hated talking on the phone, really. And the only person he ever really called was his mother, but that was only because he both loved her and wanted to avoid her wrath. In fact, he’d only ever talked to Lizzie on the phone once before, back when she had called to inquire after the ad he posted looking for a flatmate.

But the little home he had returned to that evening had been so very quiet, and mum was scheduled to be at a play with Tom. Normally quiet and solitude didn’t bother him, but… her home number carefully penned into his pocket address book had beckoned him, as had the thought of hearing her voice, even if it was marred by a lousy phone connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for those of you who don't know -- I'm not British. I don't know a lot about British legal education or the British legal system. Please bear with me, and suspend any actual knowledge you may have about either subject. I don't want to get too bogged down in the particulars of either system and would rather write than research these particular matters.


	14. Chapter 14

In a house of seven women, it wasn’t exactly curious that Lizzie was unable to find any type of privacy at any time of day. She had gratefully accepted her mother’s offer to share quarters, leaving the younger five to split across two bed rooms, though it did mean squeezing into the only room even remotely available in the cramped terrace house. She was just grateful that unlike at Christmas time, she was able to seep in an actual bed this time, even if it did mean sharing with her mum. Beth Woodville had carved out a sliver of her overstuffed wardrobe to accommodate her daughter, and had cleared a spot on the dresser just below the mirror for Lizzie to arrange her beauty products and personal belongings.

So, really, it was far from surprising that, after Mary had initially answered the phone, Lizzie had chosen to take her rather unexpected call in the minuscule garden, hemmed in on all sides by a timeworn brick wall and not exactly out of earshot of the kitchen window. She’d parked herself on the shallow steps that led down from the patio area to the scraggly yard, and shrugged off her red cardigan.

“What’s your place like?” She watched the branches of a tree beyond the wall sway in the wind, the shifting leaves dappling her skin with the golden light of a waning sun. 

“It’s uh… just a simple, little house. Small, tidy rooms, a little bit of furniture here and there, nothing to write home about.” He paused, “But it’s close to the office and the high street, and it’s the right price.”

Free. Every student’s dream. Although, maybe not one so well off as Henry. However, unlike other student’s in his position — students whose parents were, well, loaded — Henry did count the costs. All of them. And, in fact, he had been paying his own rent until he’d moved into his studio flat. And wasn’t it always Henry who tried to economize and dolled out budgeting advice unsolicited? 

“What about you, how are you finding your living situation?”

Lizzie cast a glance over her shoulder, back at the house. In a home that cramped one never knew who was listening in, who had cracked a window, who had tip toed out onto the patio. “It’s fine. A little… well, not ideal, but it’s fine. I’m happy I get to spend the summer with my mum and sisters, it’s so rare we’re all together. But, uh, yeah, we are very much all together in this house.” She chuckled. “The commute into central takes a while. But, like you said, it’s the right price.”

“At least you have a full house. I’m out here all by myself. All I come home to is silence.”

“Yes, and you’re probably loving it.”

“Touché.” And there was that familiar mischievous note in his voice once again. She could almost see his visage in her mind’s eye, the quirk of his lips and the way his eyes danced behind the sheen of his spectacles when they shared a moment.

Lizzie could hear the door behind her creak on its hinges and turned to see her mother in the door way, gesturing to her.

“Hey, Henry, I’ve got to, uh, jump off here.” She said, getting to her feet, and holding up her index finger to her mum in the universal sign of “just a minute.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” There was a little muffled sound on his end of the line as he shifted about. “Just, um, call me whenever you like. You’ve got this number, right?”

“Yeah, I do.” She remembered the folded up slip of paper he’d passed to her right before they’d parted at his mum’s country place. It was tucked away safely in her diary. “And you can always call here as well.”

And as they hung up, a breeze lifted and carried with it the scent of the wisteria that climbed the old brick walls that encircled the garden.

****

It wasn’t a particularly glamorous internship, though it was still her dream internship nonetheless. And it didn’t come with a particularly glamorous office situation. 

Lizzie had found on the first day that all of the interns were to share one office, cramped by the multiple desks that had been shoved into the space. Luckily since she was the first to arrive, she was able to choose the only desk with a view out of the window, even if it was onto a busy but drab road. And as she waited on this, her second day of the internship, for the other office workers to arrive she looked over the nicked, scratched, and generally abused desk and wondered how many interns it had hosted over the years.

The others trickled in as the clock neared 8am, those closer to the top of the hour more breathless than their predecessors. From there it was a matter of waiting for their marching orders, which they had been informed the previous day during a rushed and informal sort of orientation, would come from Joan Morton, who was just sweeping into the overcrowded office space, trusty clipboard in hand.

“Alright, good morning. Assignments.” Her sentences, like her temper, Lizzie suspected, were clipped. “Dan and Nora, you will be sorting mail, there’s a whole cart of it in the copier room. Laura, you’ll be on the phones. Elizabeth you’ll be inputting data from the annual returns on the computer.”

“Lizzie.” She corrected.

“Hmm?” Joan looked up.

“I prefer Lizzie.” 

Joan’s eyes returned to her clipboard, her lips pursed and her brows lifted. “If there is nothing else, I expect each of you to hop to it.” Dan and Nora slipped out in the direction of the copier room, while Laura made for the phone bank. “Elizabeth, follow me.”

As soon as her back was turned, Lizzie rolled her eyes before standing.

She was shown to a spare cubicle furnished with a PC, a phone, and a number of tall stacks. “It’s quite self-explanatory really.” Joan said. Each file belongs to a different organization. You just need to find this last year’s annual return in each file — it should be on the top —and input the information into the computer program.”

Grunt work. Lizzie wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when she applied, but she had to keep reminding herself that she was simply trying to get her foot in the door, gain inside contacts, and acquire good experience to put on her CV.

Time crawled by as she worked slowly through the first of her piles. The forms, often, had been filled out by hand, and some were near illegible. Other’s were incomplete or improperly filled out. Lizzie noted such instances, for lack of any solution, and just kept on.

The days marched past a monotonous kaleidoscope of paperwork at the office, rushed mornings trying to get out the door, cramped commutes to and from central, overloud dinners with her family, occasional outings with Anne or Melody, postcards from Rigo, and periodical phone calls with Henry. He tended to call on Saturday mornings.

Such as this, blessedly quiet Saturday morning. Her sisters had gone into town early to meet up with a group of school friends for breakfast.

Lizzie had draped herself over the lumpy, second-hand, green velvet chair in the lounge one Saturday morning with a novel, bare feet dangling over one arm, clad in skimpy cotton shorts and a tee shirt, the only appropriate attire in such a heat wave, when she heard the distinct sound of clinking metal in the hall which announced the arrival of the post through the slot.

With a little bit of heaving she was able to extricate herself from the depths of the chair to pad into the front hall. Envelopes and postcards were scattered on the tan, woven mat before the foot of the door. Lizzie bent to gather them, and began sifting through as she stood and made her way to the kitchen, where her mum was sat at the table reading the paper.

Bills, bills, erroneous mail addressed to a former tenant, correspondence from one of mum’s friend, then — a post card from Torre del Mar, featuring a white and blue striped lighthouse flanked by palm trees and set against a suburban blue sky:

“Lizzie,

“I’m here in sunny Torre del Mar for the weekend with some old school pals, since one of them has a summer home here. We’re enjoying the beach, bars, and boating. I’m disappointed to not have a summer fling yet, but… oh well. Write to me and let me know how you are.

“Missing you, Rigo” 

And Lizzie was missing him too, if she was honest. Although he could be something of a headache, Rigo and his lighthearted, easy going manner had become such a part of her day-to-day life. She would have to buy a postcard during her lunch break on Monday so she could write him back. After all, she had received three or four such post cards from him already and she hadn’t returned the favor once yet.

Next was a thin envelope, the type written letter within almost legible through its casing. Her address and the return address, however, were written in tall, spiky letters, carefully scratched out.

This particular article of mail, Lizzie surreptitiously tucked into the waistband of her shorts, drawing her tee shirt over it to hide it from sight. 

There was a letter from her landlord, typed out on cheap paper in a formal manner that suggested professional advice had been obtained as to verbiage. The letter discussed some slight changes to the lease terms while referencing an enclosed new agreement that needed signing.

She would have to review the lease, later. Just now Lizzie was stealing away quietly back to the lumpy green velvet chair in the lounge, away from her mother’s often quick and knowing glance. 

It was with fidgety hands that Lizzie looped a finger under the fold of the envelope and dragged it under the flap to open it. The letter within was typed on a lightweight, fine paper, on personalized stationary. A large red “T” coupled on the left by a smaller green “H” and on the right by a smaller green “R”. R? What could his middle name be? She made a mental note to ask him later.

“Lizzie” it ran, opening with no “Dear” with which to indicate her standing with him.

“We never seem to write one another, even now during the summer when we’re so far apart. I’d say I hope all is well with you in London, though in truth we only just got off the phone a few hours ago. But I suppose I should hope that things have been alright in the interim.

“You mentioned on the phone earlier how the Summer bank holiday is coming up. And seeing as how you said you would come visit this summer and how you haven’t yet, and seeing as how you already told me you didn’t have anything planned, I took the liberty of purchasing train tickets for you, which you will find enclosed.

“I’d like for you to come visit for the long weekend. There is a spare room here which will be all yours. 

“If you don’t wish to visit for any reason, just let me know and please send back the tickets. 

“Your servant,

“Harry

And just above his typed name was his signature in ink, scrawled in that peculiar hand.

Like someone from days of yore, he’d signed off in a somewhat funny, somewhat sweet manner. She nipped at her lips to keep from grinning to herself and folded up the letter, slipping it back into the envelope, from which she drew out the train tickets. It had been awfully presumptuous of him.

****

Lizzie shouldered her overstuffed rucksack and disembarked the train car, still a fair bit stiff from the two hour ride from Paddington Station. She spotted him straight away, standing on the platform in his tan trousers, the cuffs of his blue and white checked shirt rolled up to expose surprisingly tanned forearms.

“There you are.” He said above the din of passerby on the platform while she neared him. “You must be the last one off.” The sun had dappled a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. Something about them made him look boyish, less serious and imposing.

“Hmmm, nice to see you too.” Lizzie broke out into a grin. 

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, certainly not a kiss, but she was a little surprised when his hand brushed hers before he slotted her palm into his on the way out to his car.

Back at his little house, Harry carried her rucksack upstairs for her, and showed her into the small room directly opposite his at the top of the narrow staircase. The room was just big enough for a twin bed, a night stand, and a chest height bureau topped with a mirror. But the double windows let in plenty of light, and it was all rather cozy. “Wonderful, thanks.” She said presently, sitting on the edge of the bed to test the mattress.

“Glad you like it.” Harry set her rucksack down so it leaned against the side of the bureau, however he remained in the door frame. “There is just one thing.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the hardwoods, and braced a hand on the door handle.

She arched a brow and crossed her legs at the knee primly.

“The lead partner at our firm is hosting a get together tomorrow night. I totally forgot about it until just yesterday. I already RSVPed and… well, would you mind very much going with me?”

“A get together?” Her eyes scanned the room blindly, as she didn’t particularly want to look at Harry’s uneasy fidgetings. “I’m not sure I would have the appropriate… uh, thing to wear. I just packed jeans and tops, and, well, casual clothes — nothing smart.”

“Of course. But, we could,” here there was a long pause and the shoe scuffing audibly stopped, so she looked at him, “we could pick out something for you in town tomorrow.” Harry drew a hand over his face, “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t-“

“No, it’s alright.” Lizzie stood. “I understand. Now,” she snatched up her handbag, “you promised me a good drink and I’m ready for it.”

They ventured out to the area around Cardiff Castle and Cardiff University, cutting through Cooper’s field as they headed East. It was a wonderful neighborhood, and Lizzie was enjoying their wander through the lanes, experiencing a city she had never been to before.

Queen Street was bustling with people, and the lights were just starting to come on outside of the establishments. Lizzie felt strangely transported by the dual language signs. “Have you picked up any Welsh while you’ve been here?”

Henry snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes to himself as he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks, “I’ve learned a few phrases and basic conversational words over the years; enough to order at a restaurant or get directions. But that’s it.”

“Aren’t you originally from Wales?”

“Originally, but I wasn’t raised here, as you know.” They ambled along in no particular rush, but with their eyes peeled for a decent looking pub. “Besides, not all Welsh people can speak it. It isn’t widely taught.”

In time, and just South of the castle, they found a bar off Duke Street. Harry said he had been there once before, and they went dutch on their drinks. “So, how are you finding it here?” Their basket of chips of arrived, and they were still piping hot when Lizzie dared to reach for one.

“Fine. I mostly just work and then go home in the evenings and eat and read. Maybe talk to some family on the phone. Occasionally I’ll get drinks with some others from the office.”

This she already knew. His schedule and habits were just the same as they were when school was in session. “You get on alright with the other interns?”

“All but one.”

Lizzie huffed a little laugh before she tipped back her pint glass again. “How is Richard Perkin?”

“Awful. There’s this competition for who will get the permanent position and, well, obviously we’re all vying for it. But Richard seems to see it as a personal competition between just the two of us.”

“Will he be there tomorrow night?” Lizzie picked at the chips which had cooled sufficiently by now.

“Undoubtedly.” Harry said, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, a rare blip in his normally impeccable manners. “Brown nosing anyone who can even remotely boost his image.”

“Sounds like you’re taking it pretty personal yourself.” Lizzie mused.

Harry bit his lip, and redirected the conversation. The observation had clearly been a little too close to the bone. “You’ve been mum about your summer activities.” He noted.

“What’s there to tell?” Lizzie set down her glass and leaned back in her chair at the high topped table. “My internship is a drag, the other interns are just as bored and none of us care to know one another. Mum and my sisters are all just the same. Melody and Anne and I see each other often enough, though only briefly.” She looked past him, out the front window and onto the street. “Who knew I’d feel so ready to go back to uni, after looking forward to breaking up for summer for so long.”

“One always wants what one can’t have.” 

She let his remark dangle there in the air between them. Was that true for them? Would it be? As soon as they gave into all this, this energy between them would that be it? Would it all be over? Were they both purely tantalized by the chase? A shiver traveled up her spine. Maybe coming here had been a mistake. 

Lizzie slipped off her tall chair. “Let’s go.” She said, nodding at their empty glasses on the tabletop.

They ambled along to a co-op on the way back to his and picked up some things with which to make dinner and drinks and headed Westward, in the direction of his place. 

“Would you ever live here? Permanently, I mean.” She asked, eyeing up the gardens they passed, in full summer bloom and more deliciously fragrant than any perfume she’d owned. The houses on that street were particularly tidily kept, and she could see families moving within the few homes in which the drapes hadn’t been drawn.

Harry glanced around as if measuring his response by what he saw there, on that block, “Maybe. Can you see me living here?”

“Not really. You seem more like a Londoner to me.” 

“And you to me.” 

When they got to the house, Harry handed off his keys to Lizzie, as his arms were full of brown paper bags, and she got the door. “You never gave me the official tour”. Lizzie reminded him as she followed him through the hall and to the kitchen in the back of the house.

He obligingly showed her the snug lounge with the small sofa, tiny old-fashioned television shoved into the corner, and the desk under the front window which was stacked with books and papers alongside his compact typewriter, behind which she spied an open box of his custom stationary. The sight conjured up an image of Harry bent over this desk, carefully pecking out his letter to her on the machine, glancing up and out the window between sentences. Upstairs he indicated to the washroom, after sweeping the door open, then haltingly open the door to his own room. 

Lizzie tentatively stepped into the room and he switched on the lamp beside the bed while she took it in. It was cramped, but nice, with a bed dressed in stark white bed clothes, a window overlooking the back garden, and a long low dresser. The nightstand was stacked with novels, law books, folded sections of obsolete newspapers, and topped with Henry’s tortoiseshell rimmed reading glasses. An abhorrence of bifocals was one of his quirks she remembered.

The home, like Harry, was devoid of embellishment, spare, and frank. But there were touches enough, all of the strictly practical, to hint at the inhabitant, his habits and employ and characteristics.

Downstairs she was shown into the obsessively clean kitchen, where he made them cocktails while she worked over a hot stove to whip up some cacio e pepe, which they took to the back garden. 

It had grown dark by the time they made it outside with their bowls, and each were on their second cocktail, having drained one each while dinner was in the works. The table was a minuscule cafe style table, all chipped white and yellow paint over aged wrought iron, just big enough to accommodate them both. But still, they were cramped together.

“Why did you invite me?” Lizzie asked suddenly after she had polished off her second cocktail and Harry had returned from within with another for her.

“What do you mean?” Harry hesitated momentarily, then handed down the glass to her.

“I mean,” she sipped at the fresh drink, “isn’t it a little strange?”

He settled back into his chair beside her. “Is it? We used to live together. We’re friends. Right?”

“You have other friends, have you invited them too?” She asked a bit thickly, all the alcohol was starting to go to her head and she hadn’t really had much pasta.

“I…” his voice trailed off, and his fingers brushed against her’s on the table. Even her lurching mind registered this light touch and she felt faintly electrified. “I missed you.”

“Only me?” She touched her free hand to her chest, but her motions had become honeyed and languid with drink.

“Mostly you.” His steely gray eyes had melted into warm pools, and his sharp features had softened so his thin lips had parted just a little. And his fingers were still brushing her hand, which she turned over so the palm faced upward. “Pretty much just you.”

The breeze ruffled his tawny curls and she watched as he closed his eyes against the wind while it washed over him, tilting his head so it bathed his face. Maybe he was feeling the effect of the drinks a bit as well. Overhead, a lone gull wheeled and called.

She could feel his fingers stroking her upturned palm. “You must be awfully lonely to think you missed me.” It sounded like nonsense to her own ears the moment it left her lips. “I mean,” she grappled for the words, then settled for “well, you know what I mean.”

“You never think enough of yourself.” His chastisement was delivered with real feeling. “Of course I missed you, it has nothing to do with how lonely I am, and everything to do with the absence of… well… you.”

“No one here to needle you?” She jested, withdrawing her hand. Suddenly she felt self-conscious, like she needed to rein herself in a bit more. The loquaciousness she experienced when drinking was almost always regrettable, in her experience. 

Harry pulled his hand away just as quick. “Something like that.” He chuckled, but his eyes dropped from hers before he dabbed at his mouth with the corner of his napkin before he produced a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket.

They cleaned up after dinner together and then Harry announced he was turning in for the evening, and so, for lack of anything else to do, she followed him up the stairs and retreated to her own room.

****

Lizzie was able to find a dress in a second hand shop the next morning, while Harry wandered the shelves at a nearby bookstore. With that business out of the way, they were able to pack up a lunch and take off in Harry’s car for a little day trip along the coast. Though wearing her swimming costume under the sundress was less than ideal, and certainly uncomfortable, she was grateful to have it when they stopped at an isolated beach in the heat of the day to swim, collect shells, and partake in the tuna fish sandwiches Lizzie had wrapped up in some napkins before they left the house that morning. The day trip had prompted Lizzie to pick up a disposable camera at a service station to better document her time in Wales. They had snapped photos of one another and Lizzie captured some frames of the things they saw.

There were no more attempts at hand holding or any type of particular affection, not even when they stopped for drinks at a tumble down pub in a sleepy seaside town. Not even when his hand on the gear shift was so close to hers resting on the passenger seat. Most of the day he was inscrutable behind his Wayfarers and she had to repress the feeling that things had got a bit awkward after last night.

She wasn’t disappointed, but she was confused. And even a small bit anxious.

When they got back to his, they took turns in the washroom, showering off the sand that stuck to their skin and salt spray that had blown into their hair.

An hour later they managed to meet on the landing at the top of the stairs as they both emerged from their respective rooms. Harry looked smart in his suit a deep coal color, which he’d teamed with a narrow silvery tie. “That’s a nice… dress.” He gestured lamely, then cleared his throat, and stepped back to allow her to descend the stairs first.

It was a nice dress, a Haint blue strapless lace cocktail number she had unearthed from the racks at a consignment store. The shop assistant had magicked up a little light blue wrap to compliment the dress, and Lizzie wore with it the tan flats she had packed for the weekend.

John de Vere’s house was a comfortable twenty minute walk away and the evening was pleasant with a breeze drifting in off the water. “Don’t let me drink too much tonight.” Harry said, offhandedly at one point as they turned a corner into an upscale residential area.

“What do you mean?”

He drew on the cigarette he held to his lips, “I just don’t want to drink too much. Besides,” there was a beat as he blew out the smoke over the ivy covered garden wall beside him, “you know how I can get.”

She did, at least, she knew how he could be sometimes at school parties, however she couldn’t see him acting like that at a work party. But instead she agreed to keep an eye on him.

The home, as it turned out, was an enormous and beautifully decorated variable mansion. The tall ceilings helped the rooms, crowded with party-goers, feel less cramped. There was a buffet spread out on the overlong dinning room table, which was visible from the front hall. In a parlor to the right the furniture had been cleared to stand against the walls, while people chattered in groups. In the room beyond the parlor, a band played while a few of the more adventurous couples were already dancing energetically.

“Mr. de Vere? Uncle Jasper?” Harry approached two older men speaking in hushed tones beside an ornate grandfather clock in the bend of the sweeping grand staircase.

“Henry!” De Vere shook his hand emphatically, while Jasper slapped his shoulder.

“And who is this?” His uncle inquired, motioning to Lizzie.

Harry stepped back and she felt his hand move from her shoulder down the back of her arm to her elbow, as he drew her into their circle of salutations. It was a light touch, but it thrilled her in a small, discreet way. “This is, Lizzie, well, Elizabeth York.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She heard herself say as hands were shook.

Harry took her around and introduced her to various work mates and acquaintances, and they picked up drinks and hor d’oeuvres from passing waiters as they made their rounds through lower floor of the house.

“Lizzie York?” Richard asked, when he stumbled across them in the parlor. “What are you doing here?”

Harry stood close behind her shoulder, “she’s here visiting me for the holiday weekend.”

“Oh?” His blond eyebrows climbed toward his hairline, his mouth turning down in a dubious expression. “Visiting ol’ Harry, here?”

“Yes.” Lizzie smoothed her hands over her midsection. If anyone could raise her hackles with nothing but a look, it was Richard Perkin.

“Hmm.” He sipped prosecco from a shallow cut-crystal coupe glass, “I don’t even want to know what kind of tricks this one had to pull out of the bag to get you down here.” Richard gestured to Harry with a tip of the rim of his glass.

“A simple invite did the trick.” Lizzie’s voice was steely.

“Yes, well, there must be something more to all this than an invite between friends, hmmm?” His shark’s eyes darted between the two of them.

“What exactly are you implying, Richard?” Harry was adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with a decidedly disinterested air.

“What do you think I’m implying?” 

Harry looked up at him suddenly, calmly. “Oh, Richard, I really couldn’t say, with the way you’re always carrying on with such nonsense.”

And then they were being interrupted by a dark haired, dark eyed fellow intern who introduced himself as Reggie Bray. Out of her peripheral vision Lizzie watched Richard slip away, and she fancied he looked a little deflated.

At some point in the evening they were coaxed out on the dance floor with a great number of couples, an invitation neither really balked at. The feel of Harry’s hand in hers and their bodies so close together brought back memories of their time at his mother’s house, dancing by the pool in the garden in the night. And tonight’s dancing was no less novel for that memory. It had been some time, and the memory was one she’d replayed often to herself as she’d lay in bed at night that summer, wishing she didn’t feel so lonely in spite of all her regular socializations, in spite of her house full of loving family members.

Harry wasn’t an exceptional dancer, he didn’t move with the grace of some other men despite his attempts, but he was a good partner. He made small talk in the lulls, and surprised her with twirls, and generally kept a smile on her lips.

And so it was no surprise as they tripped home, a little lighter for all the bubbly wine on offer during the course of the evening, that they held on to one another for support, their arms looped. “Thanks for coming with me, tonight.” 

Harry had that goofy smile on, the one he only gave when he was a bit drunk. Not his usual closed lipped smile, not that ironical smile he sometimes flashed — but rather the one that caused his mouth to hang open just a little revealing his oddly small, crooked teeth and his longer two front teeth of which he was desperately self-conscious. Lizzie alway considered herself especially lucky when she was able to elicit this particular smile from him with a well timed joke, a quick witted jab, and other rare instances.

“Thanks for taking me.”

When they got back to the little house, Lizzie went up to her room and changed into a floral cotton pajama set before Harry called her back downstairs. He was in the lounge opening the windows and had also changed for the evening.

“Want to watch a movie?” 

Lizzie shrugged and sank onto the sofa. It was late. 12:43am by the little clock on the mantle. But the smell of a mild summer evening on the air that drifted in through the open windows coupled with the soft glow of the task lamp on the desk were enough to tempt her. They settled down to watch a VHS tape of some movie that neither of them particularly cared about. Harry had brought in some red wine that they both sipped straight from the bottle, and Lizzie even took drags of his cigarettes when the fancy struck her as it sometimes did when she’d had a bit too much.

So, it wasn’t any wonder when she woke the next morning sagging against Harry, both still curled up on the sofa, static playing on the television, a crystal ashtray on the rug at her feet blooming with cigarette butts, and a mostly empty bottle of red wine beside it.

It was Sunday morning, Lizzie realized with the dull pang of guilt that always struck her when she missed Church. Or maybe that was just a hangover. She pressed the heel of her hand to her temple as she sat up. Surely she hadn’t had that much the night before? Just a few glasses of wine, well, maybe more than just a few.

“Good morning.” Harry mumbled next to her, blinking his eyes against the sun slanting through the window, but otherwise entirely prone.

“Good grief.” She whispered.

He started and stretched, yawning through a chuckle. “You alright there, York?” 

“Fresh as a daisy.” 

“I shouldn’t have let us fall asleep down here.” With a little effort Harry stood and carded his fingers through his hair

“Well, there wasn’t any way we weren’t going to fall asleep on the sofa last night.” She reasoned, allowing him to give her a hand to her feet. “I mean, that movie was so mind-numbingly boring.” 

And if she was honest, she hadn’t really wanted to say ‘good night’ to him at all, hadn’t wanted to go into her room and close the door and curl up in the twin bed all alone. What she’d wanted, not that she’d ever admit it, was to stretch out that evening as long as possible, to continue in Harry’s company. Maybe it was because it was the first time since they’d said good bye at Margaret’s country home that she’d not felt alone. Maybe it was because she’d missed Harry, a little more than she was willing to recognize. Maybe it was because she’d laid her head on his shoulder, and he’d laid his hand on her thigh, and they’d both pretended not to notice, but it was so nice she wouldn’t have gotten up for anything in the world at all.

****

The day, Lizzie’s last full one in Cardiff, was spent exploring the city: the docks, the cafes, the shops, the sights, smells, sounds, and naturally enough, Cardiff Castle. Harry had prefaced handing Lizzie her ticket with the condition that he would only allow her to accompany him if she were on her best behavior, “We don’t need a repeat of the near-fiasco we experienced at Apsley House” he said, referencing the undignified tour they had taken of the home’s art collection.

But the castle and manor home were beautiful and Lizzie found herself again reaching for the disposable camera in her bag to document her experience. “Can you imagine living in a place like this?” She asked idly as they toured the castle apartments.

There was a long pause and she glanced over to find Harry looking a little sheepish.

“Oh, but of course.” She snorted. “Your mother owns a few historical homes, doesn’t she? And I suppose I didn’t exactly live in the most typical of homes growing up either.” She daren’t mention her upbringing on Downing Street.

“No, neither of us had a typical home or upbringing, I’d say.”

“But still…”. She cocked an eyebrow his way, “A castle? An 11th century castle?”

“Hmmm…”. Harry clasped his hand behind his back and nodded slowly, his eyes wandering over the exquisitely painted walls. “No running water or electricity I suppose. Must have been dreadful.” And then his nose wrinkled up a little and he cast her a teasing wink.

Out on the grounds, Lizzie asked a fellow tourist to take a photo of them with the South Gate behind them. “Come on, Harry.” She cajoled, stepping close to him.

“Oh, just a little closer, you two, and I can get it all in.” The tourist called to them, squinting behind the viewfinder on the cheap disposable camera.

Harry shuffled closer, until her cheek was practically on his shoulder as they angled their bodies toward one another to better fit into the frame of the photo. She could smell him, this close, all Old Spice aftershave and something earthy and the lingering whiff of cigarette smoke. 

Click.

And just like that the camera was handed back to her and Harry stepped back to a normal distance. 

****

“Shall we order in?” Harry asked as they ambled up his street, feet achingly sore from roaming the city for hours on end. It was past supper time and Lizzie’s stomach had begun making some rather charming gurgling sounds in protest of not being fed for absolute ages.

“Yes, please.” She said with an air of desperation, fingers curled about the shoulder strap of her handbag as she walked.

“What’ll it be? Indian, Chinese, —“

“Anything, anything will do.” 

She followed him through the gate that stood outside the front garden and through to the front door, where he let them into the temporary home. “I’ll get the phone book…” He was muttering to himself on his way back to the kitchen as she slipped her feet out of her plimsolls in the front hallway.

And then the phone began to ring in the kitchen. 

“Tudor residence.” Harry said by way of salutation, once he’d picked it up. “Oh, yeah, sure, just one second.”

Lizzie was just padding into the room when she bumped into Harry, holding the handset with one hand over the receiver.

“Oops, sorry!’ She whispered.

“It’s for you.” He whispered back, handing over the handset.

For her? Here? “Hello?” She pressed the handset to her ear. “Oh, hey mum.” Slipping past Harry, she leaned against the cabinets, elbows propped on the countertop as she perused the phone book Harry had left there. “Yeah, tomorrow. 12:45 at Paddington Station.” 

Harry had sidled up beside her just then.

“Well, if you can, that’d be great.” She flicked to the next page. “Yeah, we’re having lots of fun.” Here her cheeks reddened and she rather wished Harry wasn’t beside her, or even in the room at all. “Oh, you know, Anne, and Rich, and Harry, and… some others.” Licking her lips she traced a finger down the list of take out restaurants. “Mmm hmm. Yeah, I’ll be careful. Yeah, see you tomorrow, too. Love you, bye.”

Hanging up the phone on the wall mounted receiver, Lizzie turned back to the phone book hoping and praying Harry wouldn’t say anything, though she knew he would. 

“What was that?”

“My mum.”

“I know who it was, but what was… all that?

Gosh, he wasn’t going to let her get away with it at all? Couldn’t he just let her have her little lie and not say anything? “She was just checking on me and making arrangements to pick me up from the station tomorrow.”

“Yes, I gathered that much.” He moved in her peripheral vision. Closer? “What was that about Anne and Rich and some others?”

“Look, I-“ At last she looked up from the phone book she hadn’t even really been reading at all. “I told my mom there were going to be other people here this weekend. Just to make her feel better.”

“Better?”

She leveled him with a look, “No mother wants to hear her daughter is spending the weekend with a guy.”

“I don’t recall any protestations when we lived in that flat together.” He really was enjoying this too much.

“Spending the weekend… alone.” She clarified.

Was it her imagination or was he moving closer now? “What’s so bad about spending the weekend alone together?”

“Well, people might think…” He was definitely closer now, she could smell the Old Spice again and his fingers were just slipping towards her’s on the countertop, just barely tracing over the contours of her hand. “Think we’re doing things.”

“Like?” He tipped his head to the side and his eyes fixed on hers in a way that made it impossible for her to look away. Then his gaze flickered to her lips, and then back to her eyes.

Oh gosh, she wanted to kiss him so bad, just then. She wanted his hands all over her. Wanted to feel his body against hers. Crazy to think there was a time when she didn’t want him at all. A time when she would have pushed him away, a time when she did, in fact, do just that. He couldn’t be any less her “type” — with his funny spectacles and his old fashioned manners and his bookish airs and his thoroughly Type A personality — but inexplicably she wanted him. And right now she wanted nothing more than for him to cut through the tension and kiss her stupid.

“You know.” She managed to say, but her voice sounded husky even in her own ears. “Harry,” she began.

But just then he was inclining his head, the hand on the countertop closing over hers while the other went for her waist. And then he was pressing his lips, soft as the sun that warmed her skin, to her neck. “Hmmm…?” he hummed against her throat without moving away.

Lizzie could feel something like a tingling electric sensation travel all through her, hyper aware of his breath ghosting over her collar. “Don’t stop.” She whispered, the embarrassment of wanting him so obviously drove her heartbeat into her ears, and she threw her arms around his neck.

As his lips traveled toward her pulse it took only a moment for Harry to grip her under the thighs and pop her up onto the counter, which was just as well as Lizzie was feeling a little light headed just then. But it really wasn’t enough. None of it was. Not when she’d been hoping for days and weeks and nearly two months now that she could feel his lips on hers again.

“Just kiss me, already,” she mumbled turning her face so her cheek met his. His five o’clock shadow rough against her smooth skin felt raw, almost sensual in its own right.

He drew back from her a few inches, “Is this the kind of thing you didn’t want people to think we were doing?” His eyes danced over her dumbstruck features. 

Was he teasing her? Now? Lizzie thought that maybe he’d only been fooling with her to embarrass her. But only for a heartbeat.

“I wont tell anyone if that’s what you want.” The palm of one hand was smoothing over the outside of her thigh, and Lizzie hooked the knee over his hip rather more suggestively than she had intended. The way their bodies met and seemed to fit together felt so perfectly natural, so right.

“There might not be anything to tell if you don’t stop talking.” She chuckled lightly, grazing her knuckles along his jaw and under his chin.

He took her at her word, and swooped in to press his lips to hers.

****

Harry was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, cleaning his spectacles on the tail of his heathered blue Oxford shirt while he puffed at the cigarette clenched between his taut lips.

“Up already?” Lizzie sat up, adjusting the strap of her floral cotton pajama shirt.

“Have been for a little while.” He propped the glasses on the bridge of his nose and checked his silver Omega Seamaster. “Your train leaves in an hour so…”

She started, “Oh, right.”

As she slipped past him and back into her own room, Lizzie blushed faintly. They’d slept together. No, they hadn’t had sex. But after making out in a way that simultaneously satisfied her need to be thoroughly kissed and left her wanting more, they had spent a lazy evening in with fish and chips Harry had fetched from a chippy up the street, and then retired to his room for the night, since sleeping separate seemed a bit unthinkable at that point.

After dressing and packing, Lizzie brought her rucksack down to the front hall and found Harry in the kitchen pouring tea. “Oh, thanks.” She took the cup he offered her and took a seat at the table, but he remained standing at the counter in the kitchen. “Sleep well?”

“I- yeah.” He sipped his still piping hot tea and swallowed with some difficulty, blinking against the pain incurred in obviously burning his mouth. “Just fine.”

Not exactly the glowing report she’d been hoping for, after the high emotions of the night before. He didn’t look like a loved up man. In fact, he looked more tense than anything else. He was chain smoking cigarettes and depositing the butts in his tea saucer like a wreath of detritus around the cup, and he was pacing the length of the room at regular intervals.

“Something on your mind.” She asked over the brim of her cup, her eyebrows lifted in expectation.

Harry stopped on the spot, mid pace, and swiveled to face her, an open expression of innocence on his face. “Hmm, no.” Then, “You ready to go here in a minute?”

“Uhhh.” She peered into her cup at what remained of her tea. Then reasoned that she could just get another at the station, time permitting, which she was fairly sure it was and that Harry was back to being his usual anal retentive self and just wanted to make sure she made her train. “Sure.”

On her way back to the front hallway she set her cup and saucer in the kitchen sink. Harry was already shouldering her rucksack and would have carried off her handbag if Lizzie hadn’t snatched it up from under his reach.

The car ride to the station wasn’t a long one, but Lizzie filled it with chatter, growing increasingly wary of Harry’s monosyllabic responses. 

“I don’t know about you, but I am dreading going back to my internship tomorrow. But then, I think you’re enjoying your work experience more than I am. Have anything interesting coming up this week? When do you think you’ll be moving back for the school year? Are you living in the same place?” She prattled on and on, gaining no headway so far as breaking through Harry’s stony exterior.

When he walked her out to the platform she stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm, and whirled quickly to stand in his way, facing him. “Harry. What is it? What’s going on?”

“I don’t…” He didn’t finish the thought, but his eyes shifted away from her sharply.

“What’s wrong? Look, I know something’s wrong. Just… please tell me.” He hand moved from his forearm to grip his hand in hers.

Still he averted his eyes. “Lizzie, please.”

With a hand to his cheek, she turned his face towards hers, applying pressure with the pads of her fingers. His grey eyes flickered over hers and his breath caught before he pronounced, “I don’t think…”. He started. Stopped. Stuttered. “I don’t think we should do this any more. This- this thing we’ve been doing, I don’t think it’s good for either of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me! Either for the length or the ending.
> 
> But thank you ever so much for being so patient as this installment took me ages to write. I wasn't exactly sure where to go after the last chapter, and it took me a while to make up my mind.


	15. Chapter 15

Bitter anger burned in the pit of his stomach like a red hot coal. Like a smoldering ember. Anger at himself. Anger at the world. He watched in dumb guilt as Lizzie was visibly crushed, her mouth hanging open, her eyes gone a little watery and red rimmed, the calm before the storm, he reckoned. 

“What?”  
“I don’t think we should get involved.” It hurt more than he’d thought it would to say these things. Of course, when he’d played it all out in his head he hadn’t had to confront the vision of the joy going out of the woman he’d come to care so very much for.

“You didn’t seem to feel that way last night.” Her hand was oddly still gripping his, as if she’d forgot that it was there altogether.

“Lizzie, I’m so sorry.” He wanted to say, wanted to hug her close to his chest and stroke her wind tousled blond hair, smooth it down and tuck it behind the tiny seashell of her ear. He wanted to take it all back, rewind thirty seconds, kiss her goodbye and watch her mount the London-bound train with nothing but regret that the long weekend had passed so swiftly. But he couldn’t.

Instead he shook his head and looked down at his shoes. “It’s true Lizzie, I don’t think it’s a good idea at all.”

“Did I say something? Was it something I did?” She groped blindly for some kind of self-blame in the senseless situation he had presented her with.

But he couldn’t let her blame herself, not in any capacity. This stupid choice had nothing to do with any short-coming on her part. “It’s- It’s not you. It’s nothing you’ve done. I’m just… I’m not in the right place right now for this.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and bit her lip. Like watching an artist brush a water color pigment onto the sheet, a pink hue dappled over her cheeks and nose. “I just don’t understand? What’s changed since yesterday?”

“It’s my final year of school, I have interviews, and I just really need to be focusing right now.” 

Lizzie tilted her head back toward the overcast sky above them and blinked back the tears that had pooled in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Harry.” And there was more hurt and betrayal in her voice than he could bear.

So it was probably for the best that she choose, at that moment, to spin on her heel and stalk off in the direction of her platform.

If he’d been a man of weaker resolve he may have followed her, apologized, kissed her hard, and forgotten all about all the things he’d been working toward, and instead win the girl. But Harry was a principled man, some would have said stubborn. He was goal oriented, single-minded, driven. Chasing Lizzie York through the station was never going to happen for him, for them.

By the same token, he couldn’t watch her retreating figure any longer without that overwhelming sense of regret, so he returned to the car park and climbed back behind the wheel of his Jaguar and cursed himself in a vicious whisper.

“Did you do it?” Jasper asked on the phone later that afternoon and Harry gave his curt reply in the affirmative, rubbing the back of his neck where he felt tensest. 

But the damage was already done. Not just with Lizzie. As Jasper had warned him, it was announced when they returned to the office after the holidays that Richard had been awarded the much coveted permanent position with the firm.

“Better luck in the future.” De Vere had said in his matter-of-fact tone of voice, his mouth a taut line, as he clapped Harry on the shoulder.

It had come down to dedication, Jasper had told him. Richard had given the internship his all, he done anything to prove he was deserving of the recognition. Whereas Harry, well, Harry had worked hard and certainly had the intelligence and knowhow, but he didn’t seem to have had his head totally in the game. At times, Jasper said, Harry had seemed distracted. What was more, he’d spent too much time with Lizzie at the party on Saturday night, and not enough time networking with the other professionals de Vere had invited.

Commitment was key.

The final weeks of the summer were spent wrapping up his time at the firm, dodging his mother’s phone calls, thanking the partners for the opportunity, and clearing out of Jasper’s little house. The smell of Lizzie’s hair had clung to the bed linens for a time, and for a while it had kept him from laundering them. He shouldn’t have let himself nuzzle into that pillow night after night as the aroma faded, but he lied to himself and said it was only a small concession.

The car ride back to school, with his green Jaguar packed to the gills with all manner of suitcases, and crates of books, and other odds and ends, provided the almost dreaded opportunity to take stock of his life. He’d wrongly assumed this would be the summer that set him up for his career, instead, upon reflection it had been the summer he’d taken a big step backward. He wasn’t a shoe-in at the firm, and it wasn’t because Jasper abhorred nepotism. Harry had genuinely failed.

Harry lit a cigarette and cranked down the window. He had been right to be wary of Lizzie’s presence in his life as anything more than a friend, he had been wrong to think of her all summer, and he had been doomed the moment he had invited her to Cardiff.

He flicked the cigarette butt out the window, belatedly remembering that he shouldn’t have, and shook his pack only to find he was out. 40 miles to the nearest service station. 40 long miles with only his thoughts for company. Then hours more with only his thoughts, a coffee, and fresh pack of Benson & Hedges for company.

****

It felt smaller, somehow, inside his studio flat. Harry had subleted the place to an American graduate student for the summer, and she had rearranged all of the furniture in a way he decided was idiotic. Plus it smelled like scented candles and women’s perfume all through the place, and he hated that. 

Fuming, stupidly fuming, at the slight inconvenience in a way that Harry hated himself for and refused to analyze because he knew just where that led, he crossed to the bank of oversized windows on the far wall and opened them. Deep in the recesses of his mind he knew he was teetering on the edge of a black void, but if he simply concentrated on getting himself settled back into his flat maybe everything would just blow over.

Harry rolled up his sleeves and set to moving the furniture. Not back to how it was, but in a way that worked for him. Bed to the other side of the room, sofa nearer the kitchen, desk behind the sofa - no wait - beside the bed. He was so busy sliding things here and there Harry nearly missed the rap at his door.

“Harry?” A voice called, a touch impatient, as if this wasn’t their first knock.

“Coming.”

When he swung the door open, he found Rich Gloucester, his normal pallor replaced with a healthy looking tan, standing in the hall with a mug of tea in either hand. “Welcome back.”

“Hey Rich.” It was good job he’d brought tea, because his subletter had cleaned out what little had been left in the cabinets at the end of the school year. Harry took the offered drink and stepped aside to let Rich in. 

“Actually, mate, I noticed you parked on a double yellow outside. You might want to…”

“Oh yeah, yes, I…” poking about the front hall for a spot to set down his mug, Harry finally settled it on the floor, “forgot”.

Rich followed suit, setting his mug beside Harry’s, and ambled down the stairs behind him. “Still have a few things to bring up?”

“Yes. I’ve just been so distracted lately.” Shit, he hated that word now. Distracted. No one had ever said of Harry Tudor that he was distracted, forgetful, or a failure.

Together they unloaded Harry’s things onto the sidewalk and Rich waited there while Harry parked his car and returned on foot.

“How was your summer?” He asked, as they hefted a load of his stuff up to the flat together. 

“Alright. Worked like a mad man at Plantagenet & York all summer, with my brother running me ragged in some attempt to prove to everyone that my position in the summer program was merit-based and not due to familial relations.” He trailed Harry up the stairs and into the flat, setting down his load beside Harry’s, “Then spent a week in Cinque Terre with Anne.”

“I imagine that was quite nice.”

“I should think so.” Rich perched on the arm of Harry’s sofa, balancing one ankle on the other knee, and hunching his back slightly, “It was all I got to see of Anne all summer, what with her in London and me in York. And her family is so strict we didn’t get to visit at all on weekends. I don’t know how she managed to sneak away to Italy with me, and I don’t really want to know.”

Harry sank onto the sofa at the end opposite Rich, pivoting to face his friend, each sipping their teas. “And was your summer experience everything you hoped for?”

Snorting a soft laugh Harry ran a finger over the rim of his mug and privately rolled his eyes, as if the whole summer were some kind of “in joke” with himself. “Not exactly. Our favorite little shit got the better of me.”

At this Rich frowned, dark brows gathering together over his cool emerald eyes. “How’s that?”

“Essentially,” With lithe motions Harry cradled his mug against his chest as he settled back into the depths of the sofa cushions, “There was this permanent position available to the top worker, and at the end of the summer it was awarded to Richard.”

“You can’t be serious? Richard?” Rich’s gaze was far past his friend now, fixed on some point out the open window as he shook his head. “That guy has nothing on you? How’d you let that happen?”

“I…”. He wished all of the sudden that he hadn’t told Rich at all. “I don’t know.” He lied, tipping the tea to his lips again.

Perhaps sensing that he wasn’t getting the full story, but seeing that pressing on with the current line of conversation wasn’t going to go over well, Rich changed tack. “Do anything else this summer, other than work?”

“Visited with my uncle some. Mum came out to see me once. Nothing exciting.” He drained his drink and set the mug between his legs on the sofa, the ceramic still warm against his thighs. 

“What about… any girls?” Rich was inspecting his nails with faux interest. 

Harry tilted his chin down and glanced at his friend from under a flattened, skeptical brow. “Girls?” The expression was a staple of his, a classic ‘give me a break’ look.

“I don’t know, a certain blonde headed someone seemed a bit—“

“No.”

“Interested when we were at — hey, I’m just saying.”

Face a mask of neutrality, Harry pretended that his outburst was totally normal, even though it definitely wasn’t. “We’re just friends.” 

“Well, we all thought…”

Shit, they all thought? “I don’t know where you got a silly thought like that from.” He stood easily, all lanky limbs, “She’s obviously out of my league.” And on that note he was crossing to the kitchenette to clean the mug in the sink. Really, she was out of his league, not just in the looks department either. And sure, he may have been the son of a member of parliament, but his lineage wasn’t as pristine as her’s, and he wasn’t the polished, well-bred, top-notch, ambitious member of society she deserved.

“Right.”

He knew what Rich was thinking. There was no way they had all mistaken it, that they had all uniformly misread that indescribable frission of something between the two of them. But Lizzie and Harry had never let on to anyone else that there was anything between them. Any moment of affection, and they had been few, had been entirely private. And now there really was nothing. Well, not nothing, just not… not what they thought. At least, not anymore. Harry lit a cigarette between his lips, and puffed at it lazily as he scrubbed the mug clean under the scalding hot tap, his long, knobby fingers going a raw red. 

“Did you pick up the syllabi yet?” He asked over the rush of the water, just to have something to talk about. At this point in Uni - their final year - and pursing the same degree, he and Rich were taking mostly the same courses.

Rich was just standing, pressing his palms to his lumbar and bending back as far as he could in a strange kind of stretch. He caught Harry’s puzzled look, upside down, as his head hung down between his shoulder blades. “My doctor recommended it, I know it looks stupid.” And on that note he was righting himself and turning to face Harry the right way round, “But, uh, no, I haven’t even gone on campus yet. I only just got back here earlier today, in fact. But if you want to get out…”

Together they walked in to campus, the streets just going dark with only the last weak dregs of an early autumn sunset painting the limestone walls around them, and a wind whipping up the streets with just a hint of a cold bite at the edges. Harry wished he’d dressed warmer, and was, in fact, a bit jealous of Rich’s plain navy sweat shirt. Thankfully all the buildings they needed to visit were unlocked and they were able to collect all the requisite syllabi.

On the way back through the mostly deserted streets, a fine drizzle began to fall, so light that the tiny droplets only dusted the hair and stood atop the fibers of clothing rather than soaking in. With hardly a word between them, Rich and Harry ducked into a local pub and slid into a booth beside one of the windows that looked out onto the pavement. 

****

The rattle of paracetemol inside the plastic bottle was surprisingly loud, the sound echoing hollowly within the the walls of the mostly empty container, as Harry shook some out onto his palm. They’d talked about everything last night, well, not everything, but a lot. Harry was normally reserved, kept most people at arm’s length. But he’d lost count of how many “just one more”s he’d ordered, how many cigarettes he’d smoked down to the filter, and how many times Rich had grabbed his forearm and playfully goaded him to “loosen up, mate”.

And he had, eventually.

Rich bemoaned how much their families discouraged he and Anne’s relationship, had talked about his dad’s death, how much he missed his sister (married and living with her husband on his vineyard in France), and many other subject Harry couldn’t remember. For his own part, Harry had talked about his own time in France, his relationship with his mother, tax loop holes, and how no one seemed to appreciate good, old-fashioned books any more.

Pouring himself a tall glass of water, Harry tossed the tablets into the back of his throat and downed the whole tepid glass in a sequence of overly large gulps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

After he’d popped open a random suitcase, Harry dressed in a long sleeve tee bearing a screen print of his college’s crest on the breast pocket, and a pair of faded jeans, set a record on the turntable, and put himself to work unpacking and arranging. Not one for a cluttered living space, Harry’s flat was decorated with essential pieces of well-made furniture, tasteful photos in little silver frames here and there, copious books, an extra comfortable bed, and a wardrobe cramped with stylish, pricey clothing. Fashion was his secret weakness, one he would never admit to, and certainly one he kept from others. He fancied himself as not being flashy, but rather “put together”. Expensive Italian loafers, shirts with monogrammed cuffs, a collection of designer watches locked in a mahogany box he placed atop his bureau. 

He was sluggish, after a night out, and putting together his living space seemed to drag on for ages. At one point, having thrown open all the kitchen cabinets and the mini-fridge door, Harry dragged a hand over his face and took a step back, shoulders slumped. “I’ve got to get some fucking food.”

A little panic ensued as he struggled to locate his keys and wallet, not having the best recollection of his return the the flat the night prior. Eventually they were found laying on top of the toilet tank, a place he’d probably thought was ingenious last night when he had stumbled in. Then he was wrapping himself in a knitted cardigan and stalking down the stairs and out of the building.

There was a co-op near enough, but wanting to go to a proper food shop mean driving, and Harry wasn’t averse to the idea. The drizzle of yesterday, had given way to showers during the night, leaving the early afternoon wet and gray, and ushering a significant dip in the mercury. Better attired than yesterday, the walk to his car was pleasant and he ambled along drinking in the familiar sights, and sounds, and smells. 

Until, that was, he spotted, heading in the opposite direction as him, and on the other side of the street, a flash of a white-blond head. Hair close cropped and neatly combed, above the turned up collar of scarlet rain slicker. In his arms, a stack of books. On his face, a smug, self-satisfied smile. Or, at least, Harry thought he looked smug.

“Little shit.” The words echoed through his skull, until he was almost sure he’d said them aloud. But Richard never noticed Harry, and he continued on his own way unaccosted, but affronted by the personified reminder of his own shortcomings. 

The green Jaguar was parked in a lot a further few blocks down, with an array of prematurely yellow and red leaves stuck wetly to the body. He keyed open the door and settled into the driver’s seat. The engine turned over, when he cranked the key in the ignition, and the car purred to life, pop music sputtering on the radio. Some garbage Madonna song that was currently playing practically on repeat on all of the stations. 

There was a small collection of cassettes in the glove compartment, which Harry leaned over and opened, his fingers scrabbling over small rectangular cases, recognizing them only by the color of the cover art. Radiohead, Pablo Honey; Blur, Leisure; Smashing Pumpkins, Siamese Dream; Soundgarden, Badmotorfinger. Until his hand closed over something decidedly larger than a cassette case. A black plastic disposable camera covered in yellow and white printed cardboard. Harry pushed his wire rimmed glasses up on top of his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.

Lizzie holding the camera to her eye calling to him to smile on the beach. Gold hair like spun silk between his fingers as she dozed beside him in bed, head resting on his shoulder while the phone downstairs rang. The doleful cast of her warm brown eyes before she turned away from him inside the train station. Richard’s triumphant smile as de Vere announced he’d been awarded the position of part-time junior associate, and the way he’d turned his icy blue eyes on Harry. Books piled high as Richard swaggered home from the store.

He had well and truly failed. Despite what his friends and family told him, he wasn’t good enough, or smart enough, or clever enough. Harry placed the disposable camera back in the glove box and lifted the little door until the compartment shut with an audible click. But he’d be damned if he wasn’t hard working enough.

And with that thought in mind, Harry eased the key from the ignition, shut the car door behind him, and, with a sense of heightened purpose, almost a divine calling, he strode in the direction of the university book store. Maybe he wasn’t focused enough for that last position, but he could earn another. Maybe he had secretly disappointed his family, but he could earn back his reputation. Maybe he didn’t deserve Lizzie right now, but he could make himself a better man and earn her. That he vowed himself.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [close quarters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14114256) by [boleynqueens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boleynqueens/pseuds/boleynqueens)




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